


Chaotic Disposition

by champagne_enema



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Attempt at Humor, Graphic Descriptions of RESPECTING HUNK, Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Murder Mystery, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Panic Attacks, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Police Officer Keith (Voltron), Police Officer Shiro (Voltron), Polyamory, Slow Burn, Supernatural Keith (Voltron), Supernatural Pidge | Katie Holt, everyone is pining, its what he deserves, kinda crackfic?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagne_enema/pseuds/champagne_enema
Summary: When Lance's Nana dies and leaves him her house in the small town he grew up in, he expects to live a quiet life. Hopefully a life more quiet than the one he's been living.What he's not expecting is to fall for two gorgeous police officers, both with detrimental secrets and turbulent pasts.He wasn't expecting the dead body, either, but beggars can't be choosers.





	1. Lance and the endangered Madagascar red owl

**Author's Note:**

> wowowowowow so this is a thing? That I'm writing? w hat?????? ahh  
> this is crack/romance/murder mystery clusterfuck that I've been writing for some time now,, I have a few chapters already written and the whole story plotted out so updates will be regular for awhile (but, well, if you know me then you'll know I am THE WORST when it comes to consistently updating,,,,,, yikes,,,,)  
> enjoy the slowburn shklance and my sad attempts at being funny,,
> 
> ((quick note, the first chapter inspiration was heavily drawn from the matchmaker mystery series by Elise Sax which is like,,,,,, super funny so go read it if you like this))
> 
> (((also I'm looking for a beta? hmu on tumblr if you're interested)))

So, Lance has a house now.   
  
Which,  _ hell yes _ , is much better than sleeping on his ex girlfriends couch.  _ Much _ better. Like, there's only so many times he can listen to her bring some random guy home and have to awkwardly explain to the poor dude the next morning why she's got her ex boyfriend sitting on the counter eating a bowl of Cheerios.    
  
So, yay for new houses.   
  
Not so yay for dead Nana.   
  
_Right_. He's still processing that. Nana was great, really. She was this old grouchy Irish lady who swore at the neighbors and gave Lance those mysterious old lady strawberry candies that no one knows the source of and would always lean in and say  _ don't tell your sister but you're my favorite grandkid. _   
  
Nana was the  _ shit,  _ okay? But Lance doesn't get why she left her house to him after she died.   
  
Like, yeah, she always said he was her favorite.  _ Always _ . But he figured that was just what grandmas did, ya know? Like, he never really believed her.    
  
But, well, here he is in her old ass house in middle-of-nowhere Alaska with her pet parrot Snuffles. Well, not really in the middle of nowhere. The town itself is fairly close to the Canadian border, but it feels like the middle of nowhere. And, well, it's cold as fuck. Lance is used to the desert. He grew up in Nevada with orange skies and tumbleweeds and all of the glitz and glam Vegas was known for. He's used to scorching heat and crickets in the cool nights and sunshine. Altea has none of those things. Just dark skies and looking pine trees for miles.   
  
Nana's house is one of the oldest houses in Altea and located on the very fringes of what the local called the historic district. The house is surrounded by forests, and the nearest house is a good ten minute walk to get to. Maybe a few minutes by car. It feels too isolated in Lance's opinion.   
  
But, well, beggars can't be choosers. Lance is sick and tired of trying to support a failing acting career anyway.

 

* * *

 

There's a bird the size of the house screeching in his ears with laser beams for eyes and giant metal plates instead of wings. Pecking at his perfectly coiffed hair with an iron beak the size of his car. Cawing loud enough to wake all of Canada.    
  
_ Orrrrrrr not. _   
  
Lance wakes up irritated. He can hear the damn bird from across the house, and is not. Happy. He sits up and storms his way to the damn thing, eyes flashing murder at Snuffles the bird and his loud squeaking.    
  
" _ What the fuck do you want, Satan _ ?" He hisses at it, leaning in towards the cage threateningly. Snuffles chirps at him and bows his head towards his food dish.   
  
"Stupid bird." Lance grumbles as he fills up the bowl. Okay, so Lance is happy about the house, less happy about the bird. He's put up like twenty ads on Craigslist to get rid of the damn thing. So far no one wants it. Oh well.   
  
The fridge is empty when Lance looks in it. He's only been in the house a few days and hasn't had time to go to the local Stater Bros. Altea doesn't have a Walmart, unfortunately. But, well, he's hungry.  _ Stupid _ hungry. His stomach is gurgling with the might of a thousand men. He's about to start screeching like Snuffles if he doesn't get some damn food.   
  
He dresses quickly in like three layers of jeans and twenty jackets, because Lance has always gotten cold easily and this whole September in Alaska thing has made him realize that god has abandoned the northern hemisphere. Why does such a cold place exist? Why the fuck couldn't Nana have left him a house in the Bahamas?   
  
He starts up his tiny yellow Ford Focus, praying for the heater to kick in faster because it's not even winter and he's is about to become a lance-sickle. There's already godforsaken snow on the ground, how the  _ fuck _ is that even possible? It maybe would snow once a year in Nevada, if he was lucky.    
  
He's driving for about four minutes before he realizes he isn't sure if he wants to eat at Chikin Likin or Mama's Cafe. He could go to the local Mickey D's but it's right next to the town’s gym, and he really doesn't want to order four big Macs while under the scrutiny of the town's workout junkies.    
  
He decides on Mama's, but only because he loves Hunk's cooking. So far, Lance has only befriended a handful of people (which, c'mon Lance, you're slacking there bud) and Hunk is probably his favorite. He co-owns Mama's Cafe with his mom and is literally the closest thing to god Lance will ever meet. He's insanely sweet and has never failed to make Lance suffer through a foodgasm after eating the ambrosia he disguises as food. So, yeah, sorry Chikin Likin. Maybe make better food next time.     
  
Lance drives south of the historic district toward Main Street where Mama's is located. The cafe is right across from Altea Central Park, though why anyone would want to play outside in the cold is beyond Lance.    
  
He pulls into the parking lot in front of a group of teenagers lounging around on the curb. They pass a joint between themselves and laugh at something. Lance waits in the car several minutes, loathe to leave the warmth the Chick Magnet (the name of his car) provides. Eventually his stomach wins and he steps out into the brisk air.    
  
"Dude, I think it's like an eagle or something." Lance hears one of the kids say. He glances over and sees their attention is drawn to the telephone pole above them. "Hell no, man. It's way too small to be an eagle. It's gotta be an owl"   
  
Lance looks up and, sure enough, it's an owl. "Dude, it's been up there forever."   
"No way. Just since last week."   
"Maybe it thinks the pole is a tree or somethin."   
  
Lance isn't a nature person. He likes the indoors and electricity, thank you very much. But he _does_ watch a shit ton of nature documentaries (particularly about sharks, because sharks are fucking cool, okay?) and he  _ just _ watched a documentary on the endangered Madagascar red owl. The owl in the tree was _definitely_ a Madagascar red owl.    
  
"It's an owl from Madagascar." Lance pipes in, staring up at it. "It's not supposed to be here. It's highly endangered and nocturnal."   
  
One of the kids, one with a beanie and a zit the size of Russia on his nose, says "What, are you some kind of owl expert?"   
  
And because Lance doesn't want to seem lame, he says "of sorts." Because only cool people say that kind of shit, right?   
  
Lance stares up at the owl, dawning on what he has to do. He calls animal control (first he has to look up the number, because he doesn't know that kinda shit). He gets put on hold and passed on to, like, four different offices until wildlife management tells him to shoo it down.    
  
"Shoo it down? But what if it has  _ rabies _ ?" He asks, nose scrunching in distaste at the thought of contracting rabies from the bird. It's a valid question. "Sir, birds don't get rabies. Just throw something at it."

Lance tells the stoners to take off their shoes to throw at the owl, because Lance likes his shoes where they are thank you very much. He doesn't want to fuck up his converse for a stupid bird. "You crazy, man? We don't care about no bird."   
  
"Owl." Lance corrects, because he's irritated. What a bunch of assholes. They look at him like he's batshit crazy (which, okay, maybe he is) and take off down the street. Lance takes off one of his converse. He stares at it mournfully before he chucks it up at the owl. He misses. The owl watches him with ominous eyes disdainfully, and Lance sticks his tongue out at it because he doesn't like birds on a good day and this damn thing is  _ testing _ his patience.   
  
"Okay, that didn't work." he mutters to himself, now alone outside of Mama's. He debates going in and enlisting Hunk's aide, but decides his best bet is to climb the pole and get the bird down himself.    
  
He has no choice but to save the owl. No way will he be able to sleep at night if he lets the endangered thing just die up there, even if he hates the damn thing.    
  
"Okay," Lance mumbles, reaching to grab around the pole and hoisting himself up. His fingers are cold and bare, about to fucking freeze off, and he's still missing a shoe.   
  
He gets about halfway up before he gets caught on some metal pokey thing and screams as it pokes him in the side.    
  
If he's being honest, he hadn't expected to get this far, but now that he's here he's trying not to freak out because he's  _ fucking stuck _ .    
  
Lance's shriek for help attracts some joggers, who proceeded to ask what the hell he's doing up there. "Just enjoying the view!" Lance cries out, voice shaking. "Please get help before I fall to my death!"   
  
Lance is wrapped around the brown pole, splinters digging into his skin as he clings for dear life. He sits on the metal ladder rungs, shivering in the cold air. The hole in his pants (punctured by the loose metal rod) allows for more air to seep in, leaving him very fucking cold.    
  
It only takes the police ten minutes to show up, and while Lance is impressed it only took ten minutes, he's freaking out because it's been ten minutes and he's  _ going to die _ . Not to mention he's gathered a crowd of onlookers, who all decide to call up unhelpful comments.    
  
Two squad cars and a truck pull up in the parking lot. Lance hears one yell up at him "what the fuck are you doing up there?" and all he can do is point at the owl and scream "the owl! The owl!" with as much dignity as he can muster.    
  
"Just get down from there!"   
  
"I can't! I'm stuck on a metal thingie!"   
  
He looks down at the cops, who are discussing how to get him down. There are four of them, plus the huge crowd gathered around the spectacle. Lance flushes from embarrassment, because of fucking course he got stuck in a telephone pole in the middle of town.    
  
"Oh my God, Lance?!" He hears a familiar voice and almost sobs with relief. "Hey Hunk!" He goes to wave, but almost loses his balance and dies, so he refrains from doing that again.    
  
"Hold on, sir, we'll get you down!" One of the cops shouts, and Lance groans.    
  
"Lance! How the hell did you get up there?" Hunk yells up. "I was saving the owl!  _ Teach me to try to save wildlife ever again _ ." He mutters the last bit, sniffling in frustration.   
  
Several painful minutes later Lance hears a siren and sees a fire truck pulling into the parking lot next to the Chick Magnet.    
  
They pull up a ladder and a fireman makes his way towards Lance, wrapping his arms around Lance and pulling. He hears a tear from his jeans and cold air rushes against his ass. Oh  _ fucking hell. _ Lance pulls back in an attempt to minimize the tear, and his pants give way as he falls upside down, revealing the pink panties Lance just so happens to be wearing. He likes panties, sue him. No shame in desiring soft cotton opposed to bunchy boxers.   
  
But, well, the crowd below is now in an uproar of laughter. Lance groans, but in an attempt at humor, waves as he's thrown over the fireman's shoulder and carried down.    
  
He puts Lance down and he frantically yanks up his jeans, fighting at the blush on his cheeks. He almost forgets about the bird, but grabs the fireman's coat and points up. “You have to get the owl. It's endangered."   
  
He nods and moves to save the creature. Lance turns to find Hunk, but is met by one of the policemen. And. Wow. He's― _ wow _ . Probably the hottest guy Lance has ever seen. Hands down.   
  
Black hair shaved around the sides and puffing out up top, white tuft falling into his eyes. Strong jawline, slightly slanted gunmetal eyes that defrost the chill Lance had been previously feeling. A thin pink scar against a straight nose. Not to mention his body. Oh, fuck, his  _ body _ . He's got abs for days, rippling biceps and  _ yummy _ . Lance wants to kiss his pretty pink lips.  _ Fuck _ .    
  
A thick, dark brow arches at Lance in amusement. “I believe this is yours.” He says in a smooth baritone voice (even his voice is hot,  _ damn _ ) holding out his black converse.

Lance has to remember how to talk. “Does that make me Cinderella?” He forces out in an attempt to be coy, taking back his shoe. Hotty McHotpants smiles at him, cute dimple popping up and Lance combusts. This guy can't be fucking  _ real _ . No one this hot exists in real life. Only in TV shows or cartoons or whatever universe that Lance isn’t in.    
  
“I guess that makes me prince charming.” Lance wheezes. Blacks out. No longer exists.  _ Bye bye.  _ __  
  
He forces out a laugh. It sounds pained, even to Lance's ears. Oh well.    
  
Suddenly, arms are around him. Lance, oh God. I was so worried. “Are you okay?”  _ Hunk, you pure little cockblocker. _ Lance offers him a somewhat grateful smile. “Thanks to prince charming over here.” He shoots Mr. Yummy Policeman a wink as he says it, and the guy fucking flushes. Ohhhhhh man.  __ Yes .

Another cop makes his way over.    
  
_ Fuuuuck _ , is every cop on the town a god? He's shorter than Lance by maybe an inch, but he's built just like his buddy and  _ hooo boy _ Lance is seeing stars. He's got inky black hair that falls into his dark eyes (Are they purple? Seriously? He can’t be real) and a haircut that might be a mullet but is teetering on the edge between being socially acceptable and not.

And in his hands is… the owl. He raps his knuckles against the side of it making a hollow knocking noise, holds it out to him. “Here's your owl. Hope it was worth the trip.” Lance reaches out and grabs the plastic owl in shock, numb fingers curling around the cool surface, and let's lose a mortified groan.

Lance presses his face into his free hand. "It looked so  _ real _ !" he says on a mortified sigh. Hotty McHotpants, the new cop, and Hunk start laughing, attempting to hide the fact but failing miserably. He glares at them all, hugging the stupid plastic owl to his body. "Oh, shut it. I was trying to save the environment."   
  
Lance admits the situation is funny, but he's so embarrassed he can barely breathe.    
  
"I was trying to be proactive!"   
"You were being a Good Samaritan, of course." Hotty McHotpants says mock seriously, before chuckling. "I swear I'm not like this normally." Lance counters. "Oh, I'm sure." interjects the new cop, brow raised in amusement. “I must admit, though, your mistake gave the whole squad a nice view.”

Lance knows he's joking, but the fact that at least four cops plus the pedestrians all got a look at Lance's ass is mortifying. Lance forces himself to smirk flirtatiously and say “I'd be happy to do it again,  _ officer _ .” The three roll their eyes at his antics as he winks.

The new cop (we'll call him edgelord) deadpans "Don't worry. We all took plenty of pictures."   
  
At that Lance turns bright red. Redder than a fucking tomato. Prince Charming shoots the guy a glare. "Keith." He warns, narrow eyes staring down the shorter male  Hell, even Lance is kinda scared at his growly alpha male voice. Hotstuff is all threatening and  _ man _ that shouldn't turn him on but it  _ sooo _ does.  _ Oops _ . The guy, Keith apparently, gives him an unimpressed look. "What? Don't pretend like you weren't checking him out, too." He gives an exasperated sigh and says back "Go file a report or something, Keith." Keith sighs and shrugs, but not before looking back at Lance and saying "See ya later, pinkie." He saunters off, and Lance really tried to not check out his ass, but, well, Lance is weak and edgelord Keith has an ass to die for, so whatever.    
  
Lance looks at Hotty McHotpants in gratitude. "Thank you, uh...?" Lance trails off in an attempt to gain his name so he doesn't have to call him Hotty McHotpants. Although, that  _ does _ have a nice ring to it...   
  
"Shirogane, but feel free to call me Shiro." He holds out a well sculpted hand, and Lance grasps it almost desperately. His grip is warm and solid. "I'm Lance." Shiro gives him a warm smile, and holy shit is that a dimple? Is this guy real? Has Lance died and gone to heaven?   
  
Hunk, sensing his distress, pats his back reassuringly and says "come on inside, let me make you some food." Lance nods, because he could definitely use some food right about now, and glances up (which is a miracle all on it's own because not many people are taller than Lance) at Shiro. "I guess I'll see you around then, officer." He says, unable to keep the flirt out if his tone. What can he say, Lance loves to flirt.

  
"Mhm. See you around." He says with a grin, turning and walking away. Lance's brain mulls over the whole encounter as Hunk steers him inside where there's warmth and food (and maybe this is the real heaven, because Lance feels like he's descended into a different dimension when he takes a bite of Hunk's pancakes) and in a table. He thinks about Shiro, but he also thinks about Edgelord Keith's last words.  _ Pinkie? _ He thinks.  _ Why the fuck did he call me pinkie? _

When Hunk places a plate of steaming hot pancakes,  warm and delicious and beautiful, it hits him like a freight train.

Lance, he recalls with a groan as his head hits the table with a resounding thud, is wearing pink panties.  _ Oh, fuck. _

Hunk slides in the booth across from him and grins at his misfortune, chuckling at the entire situation. “You should name the owl,” he jokes. Lance playfully kicks him. “No thanks, I’ve got enough birds with terrible names in my life.”

“You have one. Snuffles. That’s literally it.”

“One too many, if you ask me.”

Hunk chuckles and Lance quickly changes the subject (despite being good-natured about it, he’s mortified by the whole situation). “Any new gossip to share, oh wise one?” Hunk mulls over the question for a solid second before perking up. “Actually, yeah! Zarkon’s got competition in the upcoming election.”

Ah, Zarkon. The asshole, slightly crazy, mayor of Altea. Lance has never met him personally, but he’s heard plenty of stories from Hunk and Allura to tide him over for quite some time. 

“Oh? Who?” Hunk smiles wide, almost incredulously, before leaning in. “Harambe.”

Lance chokes on his pancake. “W-what?”

Hunk is outright laughing. “Yeah, some nutbag who legally changed his name to Harambe and parades around the street in a gorilla suit. I’m not sure whether to vote for him or laugh, honestly.”

Lance can’t hold in his laughter. “Altea is fucking weird, man.” But he kinda loves it. 


	2. Lance and the hemorrhoid mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has the strangest shopping trip of his life and meets his new roommate, Pidge. And meets the two candidates for mayor. That, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so first of all, I wanted to thank those of you who commented, it honestly made my day!! This chapter has no Sheith sexy cop action (unfortunately) but there will be plenty of it in the next chapter to make up for it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> I made this chapter to be more of a set up for the main event, thus the reason why so many characters are introduced.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy~

After eating until he almost pukes (because, let's face it, Hunk's food is totally worth puking for) Lance decides to finally head over to Stater Bros and buy some essentials. Things like food and cleaning products and anything else required for adulting. Lance is only 19 and this is his first house on his own, so he's got no clue how to adult but _dammit_ he's gonna try his hardest.   
  
Nana also, along with the house and the stupid fucking bird, left him quite a bit of money. For once in his sad, _sad_ life Lance has enough money to splurge on useless shit, like a soap dispenser in the shape of a shark and an ugly rug. So, well, Lance goes a bit crazy.   
  
He buys an unnecessary amount of facial products and like twenty different kinds of frozen foods, because he has no idea how to cook anything past scrambled eggs and grilled cheese. He buys milk (and man is he looking forward to drinking out of the gallon, cause nobody's gonna tell him not to and it's glorious) and all of the important shit that he doesn't really want to list but knows he has.

He’s walking through the frozen section (let’s face it, Lance can’t cook and relies on frozen food to help him survive) when he hears a deranged yell. He looks up and sees a tall, broad shouldered man waving his arms in the air at some kid. “My shoes are authentic crocodile leather! You can’t just―just― _step_ on them!” The kid looks up at him with wide eyes. “Dude, I didn’t touch your shoes. Chill.”

 _“I am the king of chill!”_ he shrieks, pale fingers pulling at grey hair. “I _invented_ chill!”

The kid slowly backs away. The man, in response, holds out a long finger. “You’re next, little _boy_. You’ll rue the day you crossed paths with Zarkon!”

Lance gives him a bewildered look as he turns to face Lance. Who the fuck uses the word ‘rue’ in this day and age, other than villains in ridiculous TV shows? The man’s face abruptly clears as if he hadn’t just been screaming his _head_ off and smiles cunningly. The hair on the back of Lance’s neck stands up in unease; this guy is officially scary as _fuck_.

He holds out a hand with grace. His face has smoothed out, none of the deranged rage in sight. _Jesus_. “I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m Zarkon, mayor of Altea.”

Lance wipes his hand off on his jeans (he’s sweating like a little bitch, honestly) and takes his hand. “I’m Lance. I just, uh, moved in.”

“Ah. Welcome to Altea.” His brow furrows for a moment. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve just gotten a dreadful headache. I do hope to see you at my speech next week.”

“We’ll see.” Lance murmurs as Zarkon walks away. _That was weird_ , he thinks.

In the line at the register, he finds himself behind a man in a godforsaken gorilla suit. _This must be Harambe._

He’s talking to people cheerfully, passing out pins, when he turns to see Lance. He can’t tell if the guy is smiling behind the mask or not. Lance is bewildered.

“Hi! Don’t forget to vote Harambe for Mayor. Dicks out!”

He hands Lance a pin that says _“Harambe died for your sins”_

He isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. This might be the best day of his life. “If you’d like, I can give you a ‘Dicks Out’ bumper sticker, too!” Lance laughs nervously. “You know what, sure. I’ll take one.”

Harambe lets out an excited noise before handing him a bumper sticker. Lance gives him a smile and says “Dicks out!

  
Probably the weirdest shopping trip he’s ever had, if he’s being honest.   
  
He can barely fit the stuff in his trunk and he has to sit on top of the damn thing to get it to close. But he gets it shut all on his own like a grown-up.   
  
He heads home in the Chick Magnet feeling full and accomplished and like an adult. All he needs is a stable job. Which... If he's being honest isn't going to happen anytime soon, because while Lance has the hang of shopping like an adult, he doubts he'll ever be able to keep a job for longer than three months like an adult. His track record proves this point, considering _acting_ was the only stable career he’d been able to claim. And even then, his jobs had been few many to really consider it a career.   
  
He's still technically a teenager anyway. Whatever.   
  
He pulls into the driveway of his new two story townhome and stares. Really stares. Because this house, with it's white walls and brown trim and wraparound porch with the porch swing (he has a porch swing!! He's _always_ wanted a porch swing!!) and the shingles over the windows is his. All of this, the house where he grew up every summer, is now his and it hits him like a ton of bricks.   
  
His eyes fill up, just for a second cause he really misses his Nana, before he pushes down the sorrow and gets out of the Chick Magnet to unload the groceries and bring in the stupid fake endangered Madagascar red owl that he wants to incinerate but instead perches on the porch because it's his first addition to the decor of the house as an adult and it means something. Jesus, Lance is a sappy motherfucker. Oh well.   
  
He spends the rest of the day watching documentaries (ones about sharks and none about endangered Madagascar red owls, because _fuck that_ ) and eating ice cream because no one can yell at him for eating all of the ice cream because he's all alone. Blissfully alone...   
  
He hates it. Absolutely loathes it. Lance loves social interaction, lives for being around people, and he's always lived with someone else. He's never been completely alone and it's not―It's not good. Not at all.   
  
So he drags his laptop into the living room with the ugly burnt orange carpet and the thick wood paneled walls and starts typing away. He finishes quickly, anxiety making his fingers tremble and speed through, and posts the ad for a roommate on, surprise surprise, _Craigslist_ . He's hoping he gets a bite on the offer, unlike the response he received from his Snuffles ad. Hopefully he can get a roommate soon, because he feels like he's gonna die living alone.   
  
Lance _hates_ being alone.

* * *

The next day Lance gets his sorry ass out of bed, feeds Snuffles (after having a ten minute conversation with the damn thing) and heads out to Mama's because he's weak for Hunk's food.  
  
The Chick Magnet has somewhat pathetic four wheel drive, and he knows he has to invest in those chain thingies for her wheels because she's a delicate flower and the roads are always slick with ice. But, well, Lance is lazy and the Chick Magnet can make it for a few more weeks without.   
  
After stuffing his face full of heavenly waffles, he says goodbye to Hunk and heads over to his Nana's old skating rink.   
  
His great grandfather built the place almost forty years back, and Nana ran the place for years before she passed. In her will, she left it to Allura, who practically co-owned the place before everything.   
  
So, yeah, Lance feels responsible over the place. It's been in his family for years and now it belongs to someone out of the McClain line which is, _woah_ , crazy. But, Allura is much more deserving because Lance, while he may be good at skating, is an irresponsible little shit who can barely keep a cactus alive, let alone run a business. Quite frankly, he's worried his forgetful tendencies will lead to poor Snuffles untimely demise. Lance may hate the bird, but he certainly doesn't want it _dead_ .   
  
He winks at Allura when he steps in, because he's a cheeky little shit, and says "Hello, darling. Miss me?"   
  
She looks unimpressed behind the skate rental counter, thin brow raising in a mixture of exasperation and contempt. "Where've you been? I know your ass has been in town for almost a week now, and this is the first I see of you?"   
  
Lance rubs his neck sheepishly and instead of telling her how he's been scared shitless to come in, he says "I've been busy."

Her thin, pale brow raises (and Lance is _so_ jealous of her brows, really, she does them so nicely it's inhuman) and she says dryly “Busy saving Altea’s wildlife, I've heard.”   
  
And, _wow_ , is it hot in here? "You heard." He sighs. "I heard." she parrots him, similarly to Snuffles, and he wonders if they're related in some way. Maybe Snuffles is her long lost cousin. Maybe Allura is half bird. The possibilities are endless, really.

“Listen, it was an honest mistake.” He grumbles, because while Lance is usually good at joking about his mistakes, this is _really_ embarrassing and the worst way to make a first impression. Lance has never really been embarrassed but this is just the worst. It definitely takes first place in the “ _book of Lance's fuck-ups_ ”.

She laughs, and it sounds like tinkling water or the gates of heaven opening or some shit (really, Allura is a goddess) and Lance grins at her, happy he managed to make her scowl disappear. She leans against the counter casually and taps her manicured fingers against the wood.

Lance looks behind her for abruptly. “Where’s your dad?”

She looks somewhat worried for a moment. “Not sure, actually. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

She changes the subject almost as quickly as Lance had with Hunk yesterday. “Why’re you here, Lance?” She finally asks, and Lance let's lose a dramatic groan and rests his head against the counter pitifully, blinking up at her with wide eyes. “I'm _bored_ , 'lura.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then maybe get a job? Hmm? Or is that too hard for you?” He huffs at her response. “You know I suck at things like jobs and shit. We should _party_.”

“Uh uh, no. No parties.”

“But _Alluraaaaaaa_ ,” he whines.

“Lance, if you want something to do, come with me to my weekly feminine empowerment classes or something.” He rolls his eyes. Allura is one of those people who will always be standing up for something, defending the honor of someone. Not to bash on feminism (Lance is all for equal rights) but she will find anything to be angry and fired up about. Essentially, she’s a bored not-quite adult with too much time on her hands and way too much rage. At least she channeled her aggression into worthy causes, like feminine empowerment and LGBT representation, but it nevertheless got tedious. Honestly, he loves Allura but sometimes she needs to fucking chill.

“Allura, I could literally think of twenty better things to do than attend a class on feminism.” She shrugs at his answer. “Your loss.”

And that's it. She quiets up. The silence is deafening. Lance groans. “You know what? Fine. No feminism, but I can help you out with something else?”

She bobs her head and her eyes glint dangerously. “I’m protesting at the police station on Friday. Those bastards are gonna think twice the next time they arrest me. _You're disrupting patients_ , they said. _Giving the elderly heart attacks_. Well, screw them. I have the right to free speech.”

Lance wants to roll his eyes, but instead gives her a thumbs up. “See you on Friday, then?”

She's distracted with the thought of bloodshed— or, uh, _“peaceful protesting”_ , and simply waves her hand in dismissal. Lance gives her a scared look and backs out slowly. “Don't forget to bring your mace!” She calls after him. _Yeah, okay, Allura_. Because Lance _definitely_ keeps mace just lying around the house.

* * *

The next day he gets a response to his ad on Craigslist (unfortunately not for Snuffles, but for the roommate position). Some girl named Pidge, who is in dire need of a new place. She didn’t really explain why she needs a new place, but Lance might be a bit worried because when he spoke to Hunk earlier, he mentioned something about one of the houses on his street _exploding_ yesterday. He’s really praying Pidge wasn’t the one responsible when he replies to her response, arranging a meeting at one later today.

He thrums with excitement at the prospect of not being alone, and in his good mood he decides to get his hair trimmed at the local barber shop. His hair, he’s noticed, has gotten a bit shaggy in the few days of travel and the past week of unpacking and moving in. He wants to feel fresh.

The barber shop is warm, bordering on uncomfortably warm when he steps in (though, compared to the frigid air outside, it’s _heavenly_ ). The bell jingles in welcome, and a pretty receptionist greets him boredly. When Lance leans in to flirt, he eyes her name tag subtly. Nyma is a weird name, but Lance is totally down to get in her pants, or, uh, get her number. Yeah, maybe just get her number, judging from the way she death-glares him when he hits her with one of his award winning pick-up lines (apparently she didn’t like “Are you my Appendix? Because I have a funny feeling in my stomach that makes me feel like I should take you out”, which was one of his favorites, but whatever).

“Coran will see you ten minutes.” she sighs out, gesturing towards an eccentric looking guy with a bright orange moustache. And, uh, Lance has seen gingers before, but _wow_ , he’s never seen hair that color in his life. Not naturally, at least. 

He sits down next to two older ladies, who are bickering to each other beside him. “I’m telling you, it’s gotta be hemorrhoids.” he hears the first one say, and immediately tries to tune out of the uncomfortable discussion. “I would bet ten bucks on it being cancer, Barbra.” the other one quips.

And, wow, Lance has never heard a more disturbing conversation in his life. _Jesus_ . “I can only hope. Maybe if I have cancer Mike will remember I exist. He hasn’t touched me in years, Glenda. _Years_. I rue the day he got a pornhub subscription.”

There it is again. The word _rue_. Is it an old people thing, or an Altea thing?

Lance is about to intervene, maybe offer some condolences, when the ginger barber calls out “Lance? I’m ready for you, m’boy.”

He practically runs forward, graciously looking at his savior in shining khakis. The man (Lance has already forgot his name, oops. He thinks it might be something like Conan?) gestures for him to sit and slings the bib-thing over his shoulders.

“New in town, eh?” he asks conversationally. Lance grins and says “Is it obvious?” Carrot, or whatever his name is, chuckles and hums. “Not necessarily, I’ve just been in this town so long any new face stands out like a pink baboon.” One of the old ladies, Barbra, yells out “Coran’s been in town longer than I have!” In which the other old lady, Glenda, says “Shut up, Barb, you’ve got prostate cancer!”

“You stupid whore, I can’t get prostate cancer!”

And the two are back to arguing. Lance wonders if this is a common occurrence. Coran simply smiles and starts talking good-naturedly about the weather.

By the time Lance’s haircut is done, he knows more about Coran than he really wants to (for example, how many warts he has on his left foot, and the precise details of the one time he got high off shrooms and tried to eat his shoe). Lance leaves with Coran’s card (he says he makes house calls, _oh boy_ ) feeling ten times lighter and ready to conquer the day. Or, well, the interview with Pidge. He’s a little nervous, but mostly eager to get it done and over with.

He meets her at a restaurant down by the ski rental shop called Big Bear (Lance at a restaurant other than Mama's Cafe? more likely than you think).

When he steps in he's met with a giant bear mid-roar right in the center of the damn place. He jolts in surprise and jumps back for a second, convinced it's a real fucking bear, until discovering it’s just as real as the owl on his front porch. He hears a cackle from one of the tables and glances over to see a short girl. She chortles at his reaction and waves him over.

“Hey, I’m Pidge.” she says, laughter still in her voice. She pushes her hair back out of her face and leans back in her chair. “Call me anything else and I’ll castrate you.”

Lance, though he should be frightened (especially since he’s pretty sure she exploded her last house), finds himself chuckling and sitting across from her. “The name’s Lance. Call me anything else and I won’t really care.” She snorts and says “I already ordered for us, if you don’t mind. This place has good bread.”

“Bread?” he asks.

She solemnly nods. “Bread.”

“ｂｒｅａｄ”   he whispers.

She snorts, which is _adorable_ , by the way, and interlocks her fingers on the table. “So, Lance, my man. Any questions before I move in?”

“I didn’t say you could move in yet? I don’t―” she shushes him. “I already know you’re going to say yes, call it a hunch. Any questions?” He flounders for a seconds, taken aback at how intense and determined she is. He almost feels overwhelmed at her confidence. “Uh, I don’t know? I mean, do you have any pets?”

She raises a brow. “I’ve got a cat, but Rover won’t eat your parrot if he stays in his cage.”

“How did you―”

“I know stuff, okay? I wouldn't have replied to your ad if I hadn’t done any research first.”

Lance _definitely_ should be scared, but somehow he’s more intrigued than frightened. The most he can summon is slight apprehension, maybe concern, but otherwise he’s sure she’ll be a good roomie. In her words, _call it a hunch_.

“Then we should be fine. As long as you don't, like, blow up my house.”

The waitress places a bowl of breadsticks on the table, and the two simultaneously whisper

“ _ｂｒｅａｄ_ ” threateningly. She stares with wide eyes and slowly backs away.

Pidge reaches over, grabs a stick and rips it in half. She offers a half to Lance and asks “Bread?”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can come ask me questions (or make friends, I don't bite) on my tumblr
> 
> (also, “You stupid whore, I can’t get prostate cancer!” is my favorite line I've ever written. hands down)


	3. Shiro and the Pepper Spray Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro runs into Lance (literally) in the place he last expects to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest but it's shiro's pov so i hope that makes up for it????? I still haven't finished chapter four but lemme tell yall,,,,,,,, it's where shit goes down man,,,,,,so look out for that sometime next week

Takashi Shirogane is a man of few words. Actions speak louder than words, after all. He likes getting things done and helping those in need, which is why he’d decided to be a cop. Not a big shot cop, since he’s seen his fair share of blood in his lifetime and has little desire to willingly seek it out. So he decided to settle in Altea and help its citizens.

His job is peaceful. The most he has to do, on average, is settle a petty dispute between seventy year old Barbra White and Glenda Sherman.

Until he met Lance.

He’s not sure if the situation the other boy was in should be funny or just plain sad (the answer is none of the above, since Shiro somehow finds it incredibly endearing instead). Something about a boy hanging from a telephone pole, going on about saving the environment just made Shiro’s tummy fill with the butterflies of affection.

Or maybe it was his  ass. Whatever.

He hasn’t had much experience with Lance, but the brief conversation promised much more. He could easily see himself falling into a friendship with the exuberant boy. Maybe more, if Shiro was lucky. 

Of course, there’s always Keith to deal with. Keith has his own set of crazy to deal with. Knowing and befriending Keith is a clusterfuck all in itself. He’s a wildfire, shoot first ask questions later kinda guy. It’s certainly been an experience being his partner, that’s for sure. When Keith came to Altea several years back, pale and angry, Shiro hadn’t been sure what to think of the broody delinquent. At first they’d been at odds, until Kolivan roped him into joining the force and paired the two up. It didn’t take long for them to become a package deal; Keith and Shiro, Shiro and Keith. Always together. 

Keith’s a complicated person, but Shiro managed to worm his way into being his best friend. The two understand each other, partially because their personalities meld well, and partially because of  _ what  _ they are. But that’s a story for another time. 

They work well together (and if Shiro’s heart pounds whenever Keith laughs, well, that’s for him and  _ only  _ him to know).

Right. So Shiro is a man of action. But, for once in his life, he is genuinely at a loss for what to  _ do  _ in the face of what greets him when he gets out of his truck.  

Allura stands outside of the police station, perched at the top of the steps with a big sign that says **“STOP POLICE BRUTALITY!”** , wrapped in a pink scarf and earmuffs. He’s not really all that surprised, especially since he’s known Allura practically since birth, and knows her rage at all that is unjust. What really shocks him is who stands beside her; none other than Lance McClain, looking sheepish about the whole situation. He catches sight of Shiro and gives him a small wave, shy grin adorning his flushed features (from the cold or something else, he wonders?).

Shiro, ever the gentlemen, waves back, but still gives Allura a puzzled look when he approaches.

“What… are you doing?”

Allura narrows her eyes, shoving the sign in his face. “I’m exercising my right to freely protest those that have wronged me!”

Shiro looks at her, the sign, and then Lance. Then repeats the motion, to really let it all sink in. Lance shrugs his shoulders and shoves his hands in his jacket pocket, as if to say _ “I dunno either, she’s crazy.” _

“Right…  _ Okay _ . Since when has Altea dealt with police brutality?” he questions, almost scared of the answer.

“All of you cops are the same. Waving your dicks around, beating people up for the sake of it. Shooting innocent people like me.”

“You’ve been shot?”

“No!” she cries. “No, of course not. I mean, in general.”

He looks back to Lance, who’s obviously trying hard not to laugh. “So, you’re protesting because we’re cops?”

“Yes,”

“Even though we’ve done nothing wrong.”

She looks smug. “Yes, exactly.” Shiro fights the urge to press his hand into his face. Just another day in Altea, he supposes. “Okay, well, feel free to exercise your right to protest. I’ll be going inside now.”

He moves to the door, arm reaching out. Allura lets loose a weird battle cry and whips something out of her pocket, wielding it angrily. “Stay back, Lance! He’s attacking!” she cries, pushing Lance to the side. He stumbles, and Shiro moves on instinct, catching his flailing body  and steadying him. His body is warm and soft and he smells like sunshine. The two meet eyes, grey clashing with sapphire, and it’s almost romantic, until Allura pepper sprays him.

Not Shiro. Lance.

_ Oh _ , he thinks as he watches Lance shriek in pain, hands grabbing at his face which has just been wrongfully pepper sprayed.  _ That’s what she pulled out of her pocket. _

* * *

Lance sits in Shiro’s office, wrapped in a grey blanket, rubbing at his irritated eyes. Shiro walks in, running his fingers through his white floof. He still can’t believe he has an office to himself. He feels official with it.

Well, his and  _ Keith’s  _ office. Semantics.

Anyway, Shiro just returned from filling a report for assault. Not on an officer, since Allura didn’t harm a hair on Shiro’s head, but for a civilian. Poor Lance got caught in the crossfire of Allura’s nonsense. 

Lance is sipping a cup of coffee, courtesy of one of the interns (Jeff, who has developed a bit of a crush on Lance after the panty fiasco). He sniffles, catching Shiro’s attention. He’s oddly cute, despite the fact that his eyes are a glaring red color (though, the redness brings out the vibrant blue in his eyes). 

“So she just pepper sprayed you? For no reason?” Keith questions beside Lance. The boy in question just shrugs, blinking slowly with a wince. “I think she was aiming for Shiro? But, yeah, she got me.”

Keith starts laughing, doubling over, and Lance flushes and flails indignantly . “It’s not funny! It hurts, actually!” 

“I’m sure it does. I’ve never been pepper sprayed myself, so I wouldn’t know. I don’t have your shitty luck.” he responds between chuckles. “Excuse you! My luck is impeccable.”

“Yeah, okay Pinkie.”

Shiro finds himself laughing at their antics. He doesn’t get to see Keith loosen up like this very often, so it’s definitely refreshing. Shiro’s only met Lance twice, but he has a feeling Lance has that kind of effect on people.   

Chill out with the pining, Shiro.  _ Jesus _ . 

Lance swings his legs back and forth, somehow retaining some of that endearing cheer despite the fact that his face is red and swollen. Despite joking about it with Keith, he’s eager to change the subject. “So have you guys met Harambe yet?” he asks with a grin.

Keith rolls his eyes so far Shiro is shocked they're still in his face. “Don't get me started on that clown.”

Shiro starts chuckling, half out of disbelief at the fact that Harambe (a goddamn dead gorilla, what the  _ fuck _ ) is running for mayor, and half at Keith's expression. Keith is oddly enough one of the most expressive people Shiro has met. Most find him apathetic at best, but Shiro has learned his eyebrows alone can tell a story. 

“I think it's funny. He's a better alternative than Zarkon, that's for sure.” Shiro interjects, plopping down at his desk.

Lance let's a groan slip from his lips at the mention of Zarkon. “He's batshit crazy, man. I watched him almost attack some kid the other day for no reason.”

“No shit?” Keith questions, head cocked. “Yeah, it was freaky,” Lance gives a mock shudder. “Is he always like that?”

Shiro clears his head, and Lance turns his pretty eyes to his face. Fuck, his eyes make him feel all tingly inside, like a thousand butterflies all fluttering in his veins. “Ah, he's not usually like this, actually,” Shiro frowns. “But these past few days he's been all over the place. If he wasn't such an ass, I'd be concerned.”

Keith interjects. “Did you meet Haggar, too, then?” Lance gives him a curious look. “Haggar?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “His wife. They're practically connected at the hip.”

Lance purses his lips. “No, I didn't have the pleasure.”

“That's weird.” Keith mutters to himself, mind already working overdrive. Shiro can tell he's going into “detective” mode (a consequence of watching  _ way _ too much NCIS as a kid. According to Keith all his dad would let him watch was criminal shows and old western films). 

Lance shrugs it off, though, unconcerned. Shiro can't help but notice how different he is compared to Altea's residents. It's obvious he was raised elsewhere, in the way he responds to people and  _ definitely  _ in his choice of vehicles. Shiro can't stand his car, honestly. It's too bright, too ugly to look at for more than a few seconds. It stands out like a sore thumb in the small mountain town. 

Speaking of cars. 

“Did you need a ride home, since Allura left?” Shiro pipes up, eyes trained on Lance's thin figure. Lance jolts out of his thoughts and looks up at Shiro with wide eyes before bobbing his head. “Actually, yeah. If you don’t mind?”

Shiro gestures for him to follow his lead, the two giving Keith farewells as they leave (Lance says “See ya later mullet.” to which Keith replies with an enraged “It's not a  _ mullet _ !”).

Lance makes himself at home in the cab of his truck, flicking the heat on to full blast. Shiro preemptively winces at the action. He's never cold, body always producing heat like a furnace. He barely uses the heat in his car. 

Lance wraps himself up in his blanket, pressing his red fingers to the heat and groaning at the weather. 

“I'm not used to the cold quite yet,” he quips at Shiro's amused glance. “I can see that,” 

Lance laughs. “Yeah, I grew up in Vegas. The coldest it would get back home would be, what, 50 degrees?”

“Jesus,” Shiro muses as he backs out of the parking lot. “I couldn't imagine living somewhere warm.”

Lance chuckles. “You get used to it, I guess. How else do you think I got this glorious tan?” Shiro briefly glances over to see Lance gesturing towards himself with a cocky grin. 

“Isn't that your natural skin tone?”

He deflates. “Yeah,” Lance grumbles, giving Shiro a pout that should be illegal.  _ He's too damn cute. _

Shiro can't stop the laughter from bubbling forth. Lance is too silly for his own good. At his laugh, Lance perks up and smiles like he just won the Olympics, or something equally as crazy. Shiro isn’t sure what to make of the expression, but he looks good like this. Flushed from the cold, eyes crinkles and mouth wide in a smile. 

Shiro has to force himself to look back at the road, fingers flexing on the wheel. “So,” he clears his throat. “Where do you live, exactly?” 

Lance sobers up slightly; he’s still smiling but it’s not as blinding. “In the historic district? I don’t remember my address yet, but I can direct you from here.” 

The rest of the drive is filled with mindless chatter, mostly Lance asking Shiro questions about “What it’s like to be a sexy cop” (Lance’s words, not Shiro’s). He finds himself smiling softly as he answers, warmth pooling in his gut despite the uncomfortableness of the oppressive heat in his truck. He hadn’t really thought he was capable of romantically liking someone other than Keith, but Lance made it easy. He was just so vibrant, attractive through and through.

“This is it.” Lance said with a wry smile as Shiro pulls into his driveway. The house itself was quaint with a wraparound porch. He spots the plastic owl sitting on the rail and starts laughing. 

“I’ll see you around, then?” Lance says, now out of the car but holding the door open. “Yeah, of course.”

* * *

Keith is still in their office when Shiro gets back. He sighs as he sits down, sipping at his old coffee and glancing over at the focused boy across the room. 

Amethyst eyes focused on the file before him, narrowed in concentration, and a plush lip stuck out in contemplation. Keith is so beautiful, almost the polar opposite of Lance. Intense and sharp. Shiro is  _ such  _ a pining fool.

“Lance get home okay?” he suddenly asks, meeting Shiro’s gaze. He jolts, surprised, before nodding. “Yup. Safe and sound.” 

Keith nods in return. He looks like he wants to ask something else, sitting at the edge of his seat. Shiro patiently waits for him to speak his mind. 

“And his eyes? Are they okay?”

_ What a dork. _ “Well, he did get pepper sprayed, but he should be fine. ”

Keith nods again, somewhat stiff, but still obviously relieved. “If you want, you could call him. I have his number.” Shiro pipes up.

“No! No,that’s fine. I just, uh, yeah. I don’t―It’s fine.” 

He’s obviously flustered, which is doing all kinds of things to Shiro’s heart. He’s not sure whether to be endeared or jealous at his concern for Lance. But, well, he’s cute when he’s concerned, so Shiro decides on endearing. 

He chuckles at his babble. “If you say so~” he sings, swiveling his chair. Keith chucks a stapler at his face in retaliation. 

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh believe it or not, ive been pepper sprayed b4 and that shit aint fun man like,,,,, oof it's a mega hurt,,, im a weak ass boy who cant handle pain tho so maybe thats why hAH
> 
> also ive never written sheith b4 so i hope it was good??? i mean im trying to accurately portray their relationship soooo,,,,,,
> 
> as always come be my friend on [tumblr](https://sribblingcactus.tumblr.com/) cause im v lonely :))))))


	4. Lance and the Really Shitty Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds something he really wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real life got rough so I kinda had to force myself to write this chapter, if there are mistakes then that's why  
> quick reminder that this chapter is when shit goes down and we earn that character death tag,, which means this chapter is the longest one yet yikes

Lance wakes up to Snuffles’ indignant shrieks filling the house and jolting him into awareness. He jumps up, determined to yell at the bird for waking him up  _ for the third time this week dammit _ and is met with the sight of Rover, Pidge’s obese grey cat, stuck inside Snuffles’ cage, eating the bird’s food. Snuffles is perched on his head pecking at the poor thing’s skull.

Lance stares in shock at the sight. “Rover, how the everloving  _ fuck  _ did you get in the cage?” Because, uh, the cage itself was several feet above the ground and locked, so Lance is left wondering how the enormously fat cat jammed himself in between the thin bars. And, uh, why he’s not eating Snuffles and instead chowing down on his food.

But, well, if Lance were a cat he would stay as far away from Snuffles if he could, judging by the way he’s pecking at Rover viciously and shrieking in his ears.

Lance opens the cage and pulls the cat out, groaning at the weight of the damn thing. Rover is the fattest cat Lance has ever seen, and has hair that stands out and fluffs in your face and basically gets  _ everywhere _ . It’s only been two days since Pidge moved in and already Lance has had to purchase several lint rollers to prevent the hair from suffocating him alive.

Lance drops him unceremoniously on the ground and shuts Snuffles’ cage, locking it tight and giving the cat a stern look. He points his finger at the cat and orders “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Rover. Snuffles isn’t a foe to be trifled with.”

The cat gives him a bored look and saunters off (though it’s more of a waddle), most likely in search for more food.  _ Fat fuckin cat. _

Lance goes in search of Pidge and finds her sitting on the kitchen counter eating out of a tub of strawberry frosting. She smiles in greeting, bobbing her head in his direction and swing her legs back and forth.

Judging from the shadows under her eyes and the state of her rumpled clothes, she pulled an all-nighter again.

“Lance, welcome to the world of the living.” Lance gives her a look and raises his brow. “Are you sure you're even alive?”

“Not inside,” she quips. Lance chuckles and opens the fridge, grabbing a cup of yogurt and a spoon.

Living with Pidge has been a rollercoaster of a ride. She has a habit of knowing things that he has no idea how she found out. And her sleeping schedule is a continuously changing thing. But somehow the two work together. It’s nice, Lance has come to discover. He’s never had a roommate that he actually  _ enjoys _ , and now that he has one he’s hoping he can move towards that peaceful life he’d been hoping for when he moved in to Altea.  

* * *

Hunk’s house is the  _ best _ , Lance realizes.

It’s somehow warmer than Lance’s, which is  _ so  _ unfair on so many levels. Is is heating better? Is his house better insulated? Does God love Hunk more than Lance because Hunk didn’t shoot spitballs at his third grade teacher (and yes, Lance did that)??? The answer is all of the above.

Anyway. Hunk’s house is not only warmer, but also filled with dogs. Not cats, but dogs. Lance is, despite the fact that he has a roomate with a cat, a very big dog person. Not a bird person (obviously), not a cat person, but a devout dog person who loves every single dog on this god-forsaken planet. Even the rat dogs who look, quite frankly, ugly as all hell. He even likes chiuauas (which is a feat all upon itself, because most people can’t stand the little fuckers).

Hunk has dogs. Three, in fact. A Golden Retriever named Whopper, a Shih Tzu named Godzilla, and a Boxer named Princess. And Lance loves them all.

Hunk’s house also has  _ Hunk _ , which makes it 100x better than Lance’s. What’s the point of living without a Hunk, huh? Hunk is love, Hunk is life. Hunk is also a god in the kitchen and offers the best hugs (even better than Lance’s mom, even better than  _ Jesus _ ). Yeah, okay, he may be a little anxious. And a total gossip. And maybe too sassy for his own good. But Hunk is a gem and should be treasured as such.

Lance is sitting on his couch, an old heirloom with mustard yellow material and gaudy wood engravings. It’s really comfy, like sitting on clouds. Princess is curled up beside him, her head flopped in his lap as he absentmindedly pets her.

Hunk is crouched down in front of the TV, rummaging through a tote full of DVDs. “Pretty Woman?” he asks, holding up the case. Lance takes a moment to consider before shaking his head in dismissal. “I don’t feel like prostitution.”

Hunk chokes out a laugh and puts the movie back in the box. “My Best Friend’s Wedding?” he calls out again, and Lance denies that one too. “Runaway Bride, then?”

“Okay, why is Julia Roberts in every single fucking romcom?”

They decide on  _ The Princess Bride _ , which will probably never get old as long as Lance is still breathing. Even though Lance has seen it a thousand times, he expects Julia Roberts to somehow miraculously appear in the film. He’s dumb. Whatever.

Anyway, after watching the movie (and quoting each and every line, and reenacting the duel between Wesley and Inigo Montoya), Lance feels exhausted and happily hazed. He’s been laying on top of Hunk for the last hour because Hunk is the  _ best  _ snuggle-buddy, warm and sedated. He doesn’t want to move, but when he looks at the time (it’s almost 9 pm, jesus) he realizes that he should most definitely get home.

Lance fights down a yawn and gets up slowly (Hunk tries to pull him back in for more cuddling, but Lance perseveres) and starts to gather his things. Hunk drowsily watches him from underneath the huge yellow comforter he’s wrapped in like a burrito. “You sure you don’t want to just crash here, bud?” he asks. Lance shakes his head as he slips on his shoes. “Nah, if I don’t get home, Pidge’ll throw a fit. Plus, I gotta feed Snuffles.”

Hunk yawns and shrugs. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Night bud,” he says fondly as he leaves into the cold chill.   

He starts the Chick Magnet up and shivers in her interior, breathing onto his fingers. Already he regrets leaving Hunk’s house, and he hasn’t even left the property!

When the car finally warms up, he slips on his seatbelt and pulls out of the gravel driveway. The drive isn’t super far, but it’s at least ten minutes to get back home. Hunk told him it’s faster to get to his house if he takes the backroads (something about the drive through town being more time-consuming?) so he pulls onto the long stretch of road through the woods in an attempt to get home as soon as possible.

He should probably slow down a bit, considering it has just snowed, but Lance has faith in the Chick Magnet and her abilities to keep him safe.

Lance grips the wheel somewhat loosely, eyes trained on the mirage of colors above him. His breath is caught; he feels like he's seeing one of the most beautiful things in his entire life.    
  
It's breathtaking, until it's not.   
  
Until he starts to lose control of the Chick Magnet.   
  
Until the sound of tires squealing blocks out the sound of Lance's heart beating like a drum.   
  
Until Lance's car flies off of the road and slams against a tree, shattering his windshield and activating the airbag, which hits him in the face.   
  
Glass explodes everywhere, Lance's body jerks forward against his seatbelt. He feels blood drip into his eyes, down his face and over his lips.    
  
He blinks, he's shocked at the sight of his car literally bending around a fucking tree. In the middle of goddamn nowhere. He still can't believe he just crashed his baby.   
  
"Fuck," he whispers to himself. "holy fucking  _ fuck _ ."

He blinks in shock at the shattered windshield before him. The freezing air seeps into the car, making Lance shiver as he fumbles with his seatbelt, groaning from the movement. His  _ everything  _ hurts, especially his head and ribs. They’re at least bruised.  _ Damn it _ .   

Lance slowly gets out of his car, having to throw his body weight against the door to get it open. He falls out of the car in a tumble, bracing himself on his hands. With a wince, he realizes that he just slammed his hands into more glass, cutting up the palms. Fuck, there’s blood  _ everywhere _ .

He tries not to panic. His fingers fumble to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Mother fucker!” because of course, _ of fucking course _ , he has no goddamn signal. God  _ damn it _ .  

He huffs as he limps his way back to the road, cursing his luck and the fact that he can’t feel his toes. Not only has he just crashed his car into a  _ fucking tree _ , but it’s starting to snow, it’s nearing 10 at night, and he’s bleeding from  _ literally  _ everywhere. Motherfucking  _ fuck _ .

He holds his phone up as he walks, attempting to gauge when he has a signal.

Despite the clusterfuck he’s experiencing (he thinks,  _ this is the worst situation I’ve ever been in _ ), he can’t help but look up at the crescent moon and the array of glittering stars, way more than he could ever see back home. Not to mention the fading, far off look of the famed Northern Lights. And the snow on the ground literally  _ sparkles _ in the dim light. It’s breathtaking, infuriatingly so. He’s more pissed that he can’t appreciate it properly.

He gets a sliver of a signal and freezes, jumping in elation (forgetting that he’s twisted his ankle and almost crying at the sharp stab of pain). But,  _ fuck _ , the signal disappears. Son of a  _ bitch _ . If he moves further into the forest, farther from his car, he gets a better signal. What the hell?

He stumbles his way further in, eyes trained on his phone and praying he gets a good signal. The bar keeps flickering, frustratingly, and he feels like crying. “Please, please,  _ please _ !”

Oh! There it is! Two bars. He goes to press the phone button, excited that his odds have changed, but suddenly he’s weightless.

Mother of  _ fuck _ , he’s falling.

Tumbling and rolling, twigs and rocks cutting at him and snow soaking him through. He must’ve not seen the small cliff.  _ Shit _ .

He groans from the ground, looking up and whimpering. He can still see the sky, just a sliver, but he’s completely lost his phone.

Lance turns his head and is met with the lifeless eyes of a fucking  _ corpse _ .

He screams until his lungs are bloody.

* * *

 

“Lance, I need you to breathe for me.”

He can’t, he cant, he cant he cant  _ hecanthecanthecant― _

“Deep breaths, Lance. Inhale, exhale. C’mon.”

He does as the voice instructs,  _ inhales and exhales _ . He does it again. And again. His vision slowly clears and he shudders.

“Sh-shiro?” his voice is hoarse, hardly above a whisper as he looks up into startling silver eyes. His eyes are so pretty. So is his smile. He smiles so nicely.

“Yeah, Lance. It’s me.” And there’s that smile, reassuring. Kind.  _ Grounding _ . Lance nods slowly. “Do you know where you are?” he questions softly. Shiro sounds like he’s trying not to spook an animal, tentative and gentle.

Lance peers around curiously. “Hospital?”

He nods, hand on Lance’s knee. Solid. “Yeah, yeah. Do you know how you got here?” There’s a trickier question. “Uhm…”

_ Inhale, exhale. _

“I crashed?” His throat hurts. He feels like he’s swallowed glass. “Do you know what happened after you crashed?”

“I fell.” It’s not a question this time. Shiro nods his head and rubs soothing circles into Lance’s knee. It’s nice. “You did. And after that?”

_ Mother fucker― _ “The body! Oh my God,  _ oh god _ , jesus, I thought it was a dream, holy shit―”  

“Lance, breathe.” He doesn’t yell, but his voice is stern. Shiro demands attention. _ Inhale, exhale. _ “Okay. Okay. I’m breathing.”

“Good, Lance,  _ good _ .”

He really looks around this time, absorbing his surroundings. The hospital. He’s in a hospital room. On a hospital bed. In a hospital gown.

Okay.  _ Okay _ .

“What happened?”

Shiro gives pause, his fingers stilling on Lance’s knee momentarily. He mourns the loss. “You crashed on your way home. You fell into a ravine. The department got a call from you, hysterical. You found a dead body.”

Listing facts. That’s what Shiro is doing. It’s almost reassuring, how clinical he’s being. It keeps him focused. “A body? Who―who was it?”

At this Shiro definitely freezes. He swallows, clears his throat. “Maybe we should wait to hear that, alright? You just woke up.” Lance frowns. “Please? I just―I feel like I should know. I  _ wanna  _ know.”

Another pause. Then, “Alfor. Allura’s dad. From the looks of it, he’d been in that ravine for a few days.”

Jesus. Did he say that out loud? Lance can’t tell. He can’t discern up from down. He distantly feels his breath shorten.

Alfor.  _ Fuck _ . He remembers him, as a child. Nana would take Lance to his house, where he would play with Allura. He remembers growing older, teasing him. Remembers him giving him a pair of rental skates, helping him at the rink. Teaching him to skate.

Remembers his smile. Remembers asking Allura about him just the other day.   _ Fuck _ .

“Lance! Breathe.”

He does. Inhale, exhale.

“Fuck. Is Allura okay?” he asks. Jesus, he can’t even imagine how Allura must be feeling. “How about we focus on you, yeah? Worry about Allura in a bit.”

He blinks. His brain feels muddled, like he’s underwater. Everything is slow and fuzzy. “M’kay,’ he mumbles, blinking again. Shiro pats his knee reassuringly, that smile making Lance feel not quite better, but getting there. Shiro has that kind of effect on people, he guesses.

“When you’re not as drugged up, I’m going to have to question you more.”

Yeah, not something he’s looking forward to that. The only thing he’s looking forward to is laying in his bed, preferably underneath his fuzzy comforter. And maybe a hug from Hunk.“Yeah,” he slurs. “Yeah, I know,”

He blinks again, but this time when he opens his eyes Shiro is gone and it’s light outside. He must’ve fallen asleep. Man, he’s tired.

There’s a nurse quietly checking his vitals. He waves at her in greeting and she jolts in shock before smiling. “Hello, Lance. Have a nice sleep?” He doesn’t really want to tell the truth, but he doesn't’ want to lie either so he just shrugs. “It was―alright, I guess. I’ve slept better,”

She gives a small laugh. “I can imagine. Well, let me get out of your hair then.” She leaves swiftly, without a sign, and he sighs. Man, hospitals are  _ boring _ .

The door opens not long after, revealing who he assumes is his doctor. He looks very doctor-esque, considering he’s wearing the white overcoat, has a badge clipped on the front pocket, and has a stethoscope around his neck. A generic doctor, indeed.

“Good morning―” he pauses to look at the clipboard at the end of his bed. “Lance. How are you feeling today?”

Lance figures it’s easier to just tell him the whole truth. “Meh, not too good. I’m a bit sore, too. Achy all over.” The doctor hums, like he’s not surprised, and pulls down the thin blanket covering Lance up. “Well, you do have a broken ankle and ribs, along with all of the bruising. Now tell me,” he slowly moves his hand to hover over Lance’s stomach. “Where does it hurt most? Here?”

“Uhm,” he thinks for a moment. “My stomach, and my chest. I’ve got a migraine,” He inhales. “And my neck hurts.”

The doctor hums again, gently prodding his tummy and chest. “That would be the whiplash, and the lingering concussion. Any nausea?”

“Now that you mention it,” Lance feels his face twist. “Yeah, kinda,”

He pulls his hand from Lance’s body and gives him a reassuring smile. “Well, that’s good news. We’ll have to keep you for a bit for monitoring, but otherwise you should be able to head home either today or tomorrow, depending. You’re very lucky,”

Ha, that’s one way to put it. He doesn’t feel lucky at all, in fact. The exact opposite. Then again, Lance has always had bad luck.

The Doctor pats his knee (it doesn’t give him butterflies like when Shiro did it) and moves towards the door. “The nurses will check in with you periodically throughout the day to make sure you’re doing alright. If you need anything, press the assistance button to bring one of them in.”

“Alright, Doc.”

And then he’s alone. He sighs, loudly.  _ This is gonna be a long ass day. _

He’s scrolling through instagram and eating a chocolate pudding cup, half heartedly listening to Hunk ramble beside him, when there’s a knock on the door.

He glances up, resulting in Hunk’s pause. “I’ll get it,” he says, patting Lance’s knee (still no butterflies like with Shiro) and moving to open the door.

Standing in the doorway is Allura herself, looking dishevelled in the worst of ways. Silver hair, greasy and frizzy pulled into a messy bun atop her head, makeup free and oily face downturned from grief and anxiety, and  _ sweats _ .

> _ “Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.” _

He commiserates with her. Her physical state is equivalent to his mental state. Hunk gives her a look, turns back to see Lance’s frantic stare, and mumbles out “I’m gonna go get some coffee,” before departing swiftly. Allura shuffles over to the chair next to his bed, plopping down in it and meeting his eye.

Lance clears his throat, putting aside the pudding cup and phone. “Hey, ‘Lura.” he says softly, nothing but sympathetic eyes. It may not be the same, but he’s hurting too. He knows, though partially, how she’s feeling.

Her eyes glimmer. “I can’t believe he’s actually gone,” she whispers. It’s pathetic, it makes Lance’s heart squeeze, and he doesn’t even realize he’s pulled her up onto the bed with him until she sobs into his shoulder.

His body screams with protest but all he does is hug her, letting his fingers stroke her back soothingly. Her sobs are wet and muffled against him, dampening his ugly hospital gown. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know,”

He doesn’t know how long they just hold each other. Her grip is bordering on painful, frantic and desperate and tight against him, but it grounds him. Lance isn’t ashamed to admit that he cries a bit, too.

She pulls away slowly, not by much but not as close either. “It’s like,” she pauses. “I just―It doesn’t feel real. Like any minute he’ll be there, bugging me or telling me to take a break.”

Lance bobs his head because he  _ knows _ . Not too long ago he had to come to terms with Nana’s death, and now he’s got Alfor to mourn as well, He definitely knows how she feels.   

“Whoever did this, I want dead.”

Wait,  _ what? _

“What?” he repeats. There’s a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there a second ago. She looks like herself again. “He was obviously murdered. I want the bastard responsible to pay,”

Right. Yeah, now that Lance thinks about it, Alfor must have been murdered. There was no way he’d just up and died in the middle of nowhere. Lance feels his instinct to be as nosy as possible kicking in. He feels the fire that Allura is showcasing.

“Allura.” he says, more to get her attention than anything else. She glances at him, curious. “I’m going to find who did this.”

He doesn’t know where the determination or certainty came from, but he knows he’s going to. Not only for Allura, but for Alfor. He didn’t deserve this. No one does.

Her eyes go soft, and she nuzzles in closer for another hug. “I know,” she says, breath fanning against his collarbone.

It’s silent for a bit, the two just holding each other. Then, “You stink,” comes from a disgruntled Allura. Lance laughs, actually fucking snorts too, and says “You’re not much better.”

She hits him with a pillow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quote by Karl Lagerfeld,,   
> [tumblr](https://sribblingcactus.tumblr.com/)


	5. Keith and Prince L'oreal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith comes home to a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me updating? it's more likely than you'd think?
> 
> yeah sorry about the hiatus the next few chaps are gonna take a bit to write but they're worth it I SWEAR,,,
> 
> also this chap hints at some stuff, things will be clarified next chapter

Keith is a _little_ worried.   
  
Of course, because of Lance. That boy has the worst luck on this _godforsaken_ planet. He somehow managed to dangle from a telephone pole in subzero temperature, get pepper sprayed, crash his car, and find a dead body in the middle of nowhere within the timespan of a _week_ . Keith doesn't know how it's possible to have as much bad luck as he does. It feels like some kind of cosmic joke.   
  
And, you know, he's also a little bit concerned about the dead body. _Alfor_ . He can't believe Altea has it's first murder. Altea is a quiet town, kinda quirky but mostly peaceful. He hasn't been in town all that long (little over a year), but he's glad it's so quiet. He deserves peace and quiet, right? After living almost _forty years_ , fighting crime and fighting his own instincts for the good of _humanity_ , he thinks he's earned some peace and quiet.   
  
_So why_ , he thinks. _Is Lotor Daibazaal hanging from my ceiling?_   


Lotor doesn't seem all that alarmed at Keith's thundering expression, which further infuriates him. In fact, Lotor fucking _smiles_ , waves his little fingers. “Good evening, darling. How was your day?” he greets in a sickly sweet voice. Keith wants to strangle him.

 

“Get out of my house.” he growls back, hands on his hips.

 

Keith wonders how he got in. And how long he's been inside. Lotor looks rather comfy hanging from the rafters by his feet, long silver hair dangling. He _hates_ it.

 

“That's no way to treat a guest, Keith. I taught you better than that.” Lotor pouts, swinging back and forth gently.

 

“You also taught me how to _kill_ people, so sorry if I don't trust your advice,” Keith snaps, insanely irritated. He thought he'd seen the last of Lotor, but apparently not. _Damn_.

 

Lotor sighs and hops down. He does some kind of cool flip, landing on the couch next to Keith. “Listen, I understand that I'm the _last_ person you want to see right now, but I need your help.”

 

Keith fucking _laughs._ “You're kidding. I wouldn't help you if we were the last people on this planet.”

 

“You owe me.”

 

That's the worst part. Because, as much as Keith _loathes_ Lotor, he also owes him his life.

 

Keith sighs, low and deep. “What do you want?”

 

Lotor doesn't exactly _smile_ , but he looks smug. Asshole. “My father tried to kill me. I need a place to stay, and the last place he would go to look for me would be here.”

 

“Why the hell did he try to kill you?”

 

Lotor just shrugs, looking somewhat dejected. “He went nuts. I've no idea what is going on, but I don't like it.”

 

He remembers Lance mentioning how crazy Zarkon had seemed at the store. It seems suspicious. Keith wonders if it was Zarkon that killed Alfor. Anyone could be a suspect, at this point.

 

_Even Squidward’s house._

 

He sighs, loud and exaggerated, before giving him an exasperated look. “Fine. Just―fine. But you’re sleeping on the couch.”

 

Lotor gives him a cheerful smile, his fangs glinting in the light. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

 

But here’s the thing: he _knows_ he’s going to regret this. He can feel it, like something tangible on his skin. Nothing good is going to come from Lotor in his house. Literally _none_. And Keith has no choice but to let him, because he owes the bastard his life. It sucks.

 

_What did I do to deserve this?_

* * *

So Keith is kinda, just _maybe_ , freaking out a little bit more. He’s stuck in detective overdrive, determined to solve the case. The stress is kinda ridiculous, honestly.

Shiro is sipping from a cup of coffee when Keith walks in, eyes trained on his computer screen. He glances up and smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners. Keith’s heart kida just-- stops working. Whatever. He doesn’t have a crush, nope, no sir. His partner is just _really_ hot. _Shut up._

“Morning,” he greets, and Keith bobs his head in acknowledgement, throwing his bag down on his chair and sitting. He picks up Alfor’s file from the top of his desk, opening it and skimming the details again. “What’s on the agenda today?” Keith asks, partially distracted by the picture of lance from and center in the file. It's an ID picture, yet somehow he still looks good, skin glowing and eyes glinting. _Ugh._

Shiro takes another quick sip of his coffee and says “We’re heading over to talk to Allura, get a statement and some leads.

Man, Keith does _not_ want to do that. He hates emotional people, and women are the _worst_ when it comes to emotions. It sounds like his personal Hell, honestly. Shiro told him how upset her and Lance had been at the hospital, which was one of the main reasons why Keith had refused to visit him, even after prodding from Shiro. He was worried as all hell but knew that any interaction with each other would end terribly. He doesn't know how to properly comfort people.

_At least I’m self aware,_ he thinks.

“Really? Can’t you handle that on your own?”

“I need you with me, Keith. You’re my partner for a reason, and I trust your judgement.”

Why did Shiro have to be so level-headed and _right_?

_“Fine._ But I don’t like it.”

Shiro laughs at his disgruntled expression. “I wouldn’t expect any different.”

* * *

 

Allura is surprisingly put together. Keith had been expecting things to be much worse. Tears, maybe? Or _something._ But instead Allura smiles gracefully and lets them into the house.

Sunlight typically bothers his pale skin, makes him itchy and _hungry_ , so he's glad to step into her house. It's warm inside, although Keith doesn't really feel temperature anymore.

Shiro isn't even wearing a jacket, so Keith knows the cold obviously doesn't affect him. They're both immune.

“Can I get you anything to drink, officers?” she asks politely. Keith wryly thinks, _yeah, I could use some blood right about now_ , but outwardly declines.

They sit down across from her, and Keith observes her closely.

Allura's silvery hair is pulled into a neat bun, and her makeup is subtle but nonetheless _there_. She looks put together, and Keith finds this suspicious.

_She could've killed Alfor. Maybe that's why she seems so unaffected._

Shiro clears his throat. “First off, I'd like to offer my condolences. We didn't get to speak much at the hospital.”

She frowns at the reminder of the hospital. “No, I was quite busy with Lance,” The mention of Lance and his condition has Keith's nerves hackling. “I appreciate the sentiment, but your time is better used by solving the case than pitying me,”

Keith interjects quickly, “So. Where were you on the night of the 15th?”

Allura takes the question in stride, turning her gaze to him. “At the rink. You're more than welcome to check the security tapes, or ask Coran. He dropped by for a bit.”

Keith watches her closely. It doesn't seem like she's lying, but Keith is suspicious regardless.

“Who do you think could've done this?” Shiro asks. She turns back to him, pursing her lips. “I'm not sure. My father got along with most everyone. He was loved by most all.”

“You say 'most all’. That implies someone must've not liked him very much.” Keith inquires.

She takes a sip of her tea. “Not even my father could befriend _everyone._ Sendak was never a big fan of father, I suppose,”

Shiro nods and writes that down with a professional smile. “Right, _Sendak_. Are there any instances in particular that could lead you to this conclusion?”

“After his falling out with Zarkon, he didn't quite get along with _anyone_ ,”

“Falling out with Zarkon?” Keith asks. Allura bobs her head. “Sendak disagreed with Zarkon’s latest policy about the reconstruction of the Town square,”

“I see,” Keith says, brain going a mile a minute. “and what about Zarkon? Were he and your father close?”

Allura chooses her words carefully. “They used to be the best of friends in highschool. They've drifted a bit, definitely, but I don't think Zarkon would've _killed_ him,”

Keith gives to speak, but Shiro's phone rings, and he picks it up.

His face drops almost immediately at whatever he hears. “We'll be there right away. Yes, I understand. See you soon.” He hangs up and turns to Keith, face grave.

“What happened?” Allura asks before Keith can say the very same words. Shiro stands and gives Allura an apologetic smile. “I'm afraid we've got to go,”

He turns back to Keith. “Honerva’s body was just found, _dead_.”

 


	6. Lance and the Not-Quite Soviet Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously fuck this chapter I had to upload it like three times and now I'm just irritated
> 
> uGh sorry ANYWAY I apologise for the hiatus and any other weird shit going on this is un-betad and lazily edited so oops lol

“You're free to go!” the receptionist says with a cheerful smile as Lance signs the last of the paperwork. He's insanely tired, and  _ very  _ sore, and apparently the process to leaving the hospital takes hours?? Lance just wants to go home,  _ dammit  _ , so why does he have to spend several hours signing papers and listening to a nurse tell him how to change his stupid bandages and how to take  _ sponge baths?  _ Which he won't be doing, by the way, because Lance  _ deserves  _ a shower. 

He sighs and adjusts his crutches. Those are gonna take awhile to get used to. They're clunky and a pain in the ass. His giant ankle brace is  _ so  _ unnatractive. 

“C'mon, let's go,” Lance whines at Hunk, who was patiently waiting beside him. Lance grins over at his friend, walking beside him as the two make their way towards Hunk's burnt yellow Jeep. Lance misses the Chick Magnet; she was his first ever car. That car had survived through four different relationships, three different jobs, and at one point Lance had been  _ living  _ in her. The fact that she's been totalled  _ still  _ makes his heart clench.

Hunk unlocks the car and helps Lance in, gently putting his crutches in the back. Hunk has been a godsend these past few days. He not only brought Lance lunch every day but also kept him informed with all of the town gossip. Lance feels like he hasn't even been away.

Hunk starts up the car and pulls out of the parking lot, chattering about the weather. According to Hunk, it's “nice” outside― Lance scoffs at that.

Lance reaches over and tinkers with the radio, finally settling in some pop station that plays the top 40s from, like, 2012. Man, that was the last good year.

“Are you sure you don't need me to stay with you?” Hunk asks. “Hunk, c'mon, I'll be  _ fine.  _ I can take care of myself. And besides,” Lance says. “Pidge’ll be there to watch over me.”

“Hopefully she hasn't burnt your house down while you've been gone.” Hunk jokes.

“I'm more worried about Snuffles. What if she forgot to feed him?” Lance muses, brow crinkled in worry. Hunk side-eyes him. “I thought you hated Snuffles?”

He shrugs. “He grew on me,”

Hunk laughs as he pulls into Lance's driveway, making Lance's heartbeat quicken. Man, Hunk is one  _ cute  _ guy.

“Well, here you go. If you need anything, just call.” he says. Lance gives him a grateful smile as he opens the door, shivering at the blast of cool air that hits him. He grabs his crutches and steadies himself on the gravel.

“For sure. I think I have you on speed dial,”

Hunk laughs at this and shoots him a wave. Lance closes the door and limps his way to the door, turning one last time to wave at Hunk before putting the key in the lock and heading inside.

“Pidge? I'm back!” he calls out, throwing his keys on the counter. He hears her reply quickly. “Lance!”

She sticks her head in the room. “How're you feeling? Do ya think you're up to any life-altering news?”

“What?” he questions, brow furrowed as he slips off his jacket. Pidge looks anxious, more tired than usual, and her eyes dart around. “What's wrong?”

She gestures for him to sit on the couch, which he does as fast as he can. She sits next to him and rubs her hands on her legs anxiously.

“Lance. I have to tell you something. But you need to promise that you won't freak out.”

“Oh my god, you killed Snuffles.”

“What?  _ No  _ , no, why would you even― that doesn't matter. This is bigger than Snuffles’ potential murder.”

Lance gapes. “Are you― a serial killer? Do you sell organs on the black market?  _ Ohmygod  _ you're a Soviet spy, aren't you?” he blurts, beginning to breathe heavily. “I don't think I can live with a  _ Soviet spy,  _ Pidge!”

“Lance! Just stop talking and swear you won't freak!” she yells. He jumps, and bobs his head. “Fine! I won't freak out.”

She looks him in the face and takes a deep breath. “Lance, I'm a witch.”

~•~   
  


Which, okay, not what Lance was expecting.

“A… witch? Like― like Harry Potter?”

“Harry Potter is a wizard,” Pidge deadpans.”I am a witch. There's a difference.”

Lance blinks. “Did you get into my weed or something?”

Pidge splutters in shock. “Weed?!  _ No  _ , what? Why do you― nevermind. No, Lance, I'm serious. I'm a witch.”

Lance laughs dubiously. “Yeah, okay, and I'm Ray Liota’s iligitimate son.”

Pidge glares at him. “Y'know, out of all of the possible outcomes, I didn't think you wouldn't _ believe me  _ .”

“How can I? You're  _ crazy  _ !”

“Lance,” she says sternly, meeting his eye. “How did I know all that stuff about you, when we first met?”

Lance thinks about it, remembering how she eerily knew about Snuffles, among other things. “You could've Facebook stalked me,” he finally says.

Pidge sighs. She moves her hand and suddenly the lights start flickering. The window bangs open and starts slamming against the wall. And― the icing on the cake― the couch fucking  _ levitates  _ . Like, both her and Lance start floating on the couch.

Lance squeals in fear. “Okay okay okay! I believe you! Now  _ please  _ put us down!”

Pidge gives him a smug look, brow raising over the rim of her glasses. A thought occurs to lance. “Is that why you wear those glasses? To look like Harry Potter?”

“Lance, you are one dumb bitch.” she says. Lance jolts and glared. “Hey! It was just an observation! Why are you even telling me this, anyway?”

Pidge kinda― deflates. She rubs her eyes and sighs. “My brother, Matt. I haven't heard from him in a week, and I'm worried.”

“And? I haven't talked to my sister in months.”

“Matt and I aren't like that. We text each other  _ at least  _ once a day. I'm just― really worried.”

Lance feels bad, of course he does, but he still doesn't know how that explains anything. “Okay. So why did you tell me you're a witch?”

She blinks. “I need your help to find my brother.”

“Why me?” he asks. She gives him an intense look and turns her body to face him completely. “I don't know why, but I trust you. I just― I have this feeling that you're in the middle of all of this.”

“All of this?”

She bobs her head. “Matt's disapearance, and Alfor's murder. I think they're both connected. There's gotta be a reason this all started happening right after you moved in.”

Lance let's loose a sigh and puts his face in his hands, groaning. He raised his head. “Okay, okay. I'll help you find your brother. But I don't― I can't solve a murder. I'm just  _ me  _ . I'm not a cop or anything.”

Pidge smiles at him, oddly comforting. “That's okay. I don't like cops, anyway.”

~•~

Matt Holt lives on the opposite side of town, in a quaint little one-story cabin. Pidge parks her blue mini Cooper in the driveway, behind Matt's car, and kills the engine.

The two step out of the car, Lance grabbing his crutches from the back and following the witch up the driveway.

The lawn is overgrown, weeds towering up, leading Lance to believe the house has been left to its own devices for some time. Either that, or Matt just  _ really  _ sucks at taking care of his yard.

Pidge rings the doorbell and bangs on the door. “Matt! Open up!” she shrieks.

There's no response.

Lance shrugs. “Maybe he's out shopping?”

Pidge scowls. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she mutters, before waving her hand. The door clicks and swings open.

“Isn't this―  _ illegal  _ ? Breaking and entering?! I'm too cute to go to jail, Pidge!”

Pidge rolls her eyes and strolls in. Lance looks around frantically for witnesses, before scurrying inside.

She flicks on the lights, illuminating the small living room and kitchen. The decor looks like it belongs in the  _ seventies  _ .

“Matt?” Pidge calls out. Her voice echoes in the empty house.

“Let's split up. I'll check the bedrooms, you cover the living room and office.”

Lance flounders. “Haven't you  _ ever  _ seen Scooby Doo? Splitting up means  _ death  _ .”

“No one dies in Scooby Doo, idiot.” she says, strolling down the hall, leaving Lance to his own devices.

He sighs, and starts looking for clues.

He rifles through a stack of mail on the counter, but they're all boring bills. He sighs and glances around. “Pidge!” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Where's the office?”

“Down the hall, third door on the left!”

He follows her instructions and pushes open the door.

Lance gapes at what he finds.

“Pidge?”

“ _ What  _ , Lance?” she snaps, obviously irritated. “You're gonna wanna come see this!”

“What did you find?” she asks, leaving the bedroom and coming up behind him. He doesn't say anything and moves aside for her to look.

The desk and floor is smeared with old blood, which leads out the window in a gruesome trail.

Pidge gasps at the sight, striding forward and leaning in close.

“Oh my  _ God.”  _ she whispers. Lance rubs her back comfortingly. “I'm sure he's okay, Pidge.”

She wipes at her face, which is suspiciously wet. “I know,” Her voice is thick with unspoken emotion.

“I― I found his phone,” she finally says, standing up and holding it out.

She unlocks it, her brow furrowing. “His last text was to… some person named  _ Narti  _ . Does that,” she glances up at Lance. “sound familiar to you?

“I just moved in town. I don't really know  _ anyone.  _ What does it say?”

She holds up the phone.

All of the previous messages have been deleted. The only message left simply says “ **they know** ”

“What does  _ that  _ mean?”

She meets his gaze, face resolved and determined. “I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”

~•~

The two drive home in silence. Lance feels the quiet like it's a tangible presence. He itches to say something, to comfort Pidge in some way, but whatever he thinks to say falls flat.

She pulls into their gravel driveway and stares at nothing, lips pressed into a thin line.

Pidge looks like she's going to fall apart.

Lance reaches out and places his hand on her shoulder. She jolts as if she'd been so deep in thought she hadn't realized where she even  _ was  _ .

“We'll figure out what happened, Pidge. I  _ promise  _ .”

She gives a watery laugh. “You've been making a lot of promises lately. How are you gonna solve Alfor's murder  _ and  _ find my brother?”

Lance pauses. “You're the one who said they're connected. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this.”

“Keith and Shiro aren't gonna like you meddling too much.”

“Keith and Shiro can suck it.”

Her laughter makes Lance smile. He's glad to see her without that―  _ lost  _ look on her face. She's too young.

“Lets go have some ice cream.” Lance invites, opening his door and limping to the house.

The two head inside and grab bowls of ice cream, eating and laughing until Pidge loses that look in her eyes. Lance does all he can to keep the dark thoughts from creeping in, because if he has one weakness, it's a teary eyed girl. He just wants to― bundle them up until all their problems disappear. He tries to pull the same shit with his own twin sister, Veronica.

“Hey Lance?” Pidge asks in the aftermath, the two lounging on the couch.

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “Do you― would you mind leaving? Just for the night. I kinda wanna be alone right now.”

“Of  _ course.  _ I can stay over at Hunk's.”

She looks over and smiles. “I―  _ thank you  _ .”

She sounds choked. “You've been so helpful, Lance. I can't thank you enough,” she sniffs. “Matt would like you, I think.”

He grabs her hand. “We'll find him. And then you'll never have a moment of peace between the two of us.”

Pidge giggles and squeezes his hand back. “I look forward to it.”

 

~•~

 

He forces himself to get up after a few minutes of sitting with Pidge, licking his spoon and tossing it in the sink― he'll wash it later, for sure,  _ definitely  _ , because he's responsible and an adult who can wash spoons― and slings on his dark olive green cargo jacket over his blue long sleeved thermal.

“I'll be back sometime tomorrow.” he tells Pidge. She waves her hand in confirmation.

He slips his converse over his feet and heads out the door, hobbling away in his stupid crutches.

 

He almost turns back because  _ sonofabitch  _ it's cold as hell outside but Lance is  _ a m  _ an and he ain't afraid of no cold.

Okay, actually, ghost busters aside, he certainly doesn't  _ like  _ the chill in the air as he crunches down the driveway.

 

His breath puffs out as he limps, visible in the evening air. The sun is setting, casting a pretty orangish hue across everything. Aesthetically, Lance is in love. Physically, Lance wants to go home, but he trudges along anyway. He knows Pidge needs time to herself, especially considering her brother is  _ missing.  _ He doesn't want to intrude on any type of mourning she may or may not be doing. He might as well get out and introduce himself to the neighbors.

 

He doesn't know much about the neighbors. No, scratch that, he knows absolutely nothing except for the fact that they live in a house bigger than his. Not by much, but it's nicer and more taken care of.

 

His fingers worm their way into his pockets as he walks. He estimates it's about ten minutes to walk to their house if he walks on the road  _ buuut  _ it could take half that time if he walks through the woods. Crutches be damned.

 

Lance is lazy and tired of being outside, so he makes the wise decision to trudge into the woods and take his chances. At least he's not in the wind anymore.

 

~•~

  
  


Yeah, this was a bad idea.

 

Lance has been walking for much longer than ten minutes, more like an hour, and he's lost all sense of direction. He should've known better, honestly, because Lance has never had much good luck (think back on the endangered Madagascar red owl incident, or crashing the Chick Magnet) so walking through the woods without a trail or a phone or a light source at dusk in a new town in the middle of nowhere with a  _ broken _ ankle is just a bad,  _ horrendously _ bad idea. Something that definitely belongs in the book of "ways Lance has fucked up". Lance is mostly pissed because he somehow thought it was a good idea and now he's gotten himself lost. In below zero temperatures.

 

He shudders against the cold and looks around, breathing hot air on his frozen hands. Night has fallen and everything is twenty times creepier when he can't see, which he can't. So, uh, yeah. Lance kinda. Feels like crying right about now.

 

His soggy, pathetically wet shoes crunch through the thick layer of snow and branches littering the ground. It smells nice, admittedly, like a Christmas candle or something, but Lance's nose has been running for so long it's kinda gone numb.

 

He hears a snap that definitely isn't him and he freezes.

 

Fuck. Fucking fuckity  _ fuck _ .

 

His breath puffs out quicker in fear. He can feel his heartbeat in his frozen fingertips and against his ribcage. He really doesn't want to be here. He almost wishes he was back in Vegas, on his ex girlfriends couch. At least then he was warm. And not about to be eaten by a wolf or a bear or some other scary ass creature that lurked in the woods.

 

Another crunch,  _ crunchity crunch crack snap _ and suddenly he jolts as something leaps past him and―

 

It's a  _ rabbit _ . A bunny rabbit. He laughs in relief, hand holding his chest, and wheezes.  _ Ohhhhhh man _ that was the most scared Lance had been in his entire life and it was all over a goddamn bunny rabbit. What a rel―

 

_ BAM! _

 

Lance jolts from the shove, body slammed up against a tree and he squeaks because something is holding him up by the throat and licking his neck  _ what the fuck― _

 

"You smell...  _ Intoxicating _ ." says whatever is holding him, words muttered sensually against his skin and he chokes on his fear.

 

"L-let me go," he whimpers. Is that really his voice? Is he so scared he sounds like that? Pathetic?

 

The man inhales and moans erotically against his neck. Coarse hair tickles Lance's nose. Seconds tick by in silence Lance is too frightened to break. No, not frightened, fucking  _ terrified _ . He's about to piss his pants, honestly.

 

It's like, _like_ , his life flashes before his eyes, you know? Like in the movies. He's thinking, _is this it?_ _Is this all there is?_

Because,  _ really _ , Lance hasn't done much. He graduated highschool and did half a year in college before he dropped out. Then it was just struggling to make a career in acting. Doing shitty, sketchy commercial ads to make a name for himself. Degrading and pathetic.

 

Is that it?  _ Is this it? _

 

He wants to cry. Wants to shout "I know I said I wanted to die, but not like this!"

 

Instead he holds his breath as the man holding him takes his fill. He inhales and exhales and licks and suckles. It's the weirdest fucking thing  _ ever _ , but Lance is frozen in place.

 

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back. And. All he can see are glowing violet eyes, like they're backlit or something, and fangs.  _ Fangs! _ Sharp canines protruding from bloodied lips and  _ holy shit. _

 

_ Holy fucking quiznak, _ is the last thing he thinks before everything goes black.

 

~•~

 

Lance comes to in segments. First, he feels the sheets beneath him. They're soft, softer than his own, and smell fresh like linen. There's the warm pillow beneath his head, though it's thicker than a pillow and more firm. Then there's a hand brushing across his forehead and into his hair. It's soothing, calming, and Lance almost falls back asleep at the sensation of it. But.  _ But _ . Lance remembers teeth. He remembered the fangs and―

 

He jolts up, knocking loose the hands in his hair and he gapes at the man beside him.

 

He'd been laying in the dude's lap. Actually, not just some dude. He'd been laying in  _ Keith's _ lap. Officer Grouchy McMullet. Half of the sexy cop duo from Lance's pornographic dreams.

 

Who is apparently a  _ vampire _ ??? He stares at his mouth, clean of blood, and waits for fangs.

 

Keith chuckles at his stare. "They don't come out on command, if that's what you're thinking." He remarks dryly. Lance has half a mind to give him a sharp retort, but he feels like he's in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Or, you know what, maybe just  _ Twilight _ .

 

Instead Lance blurts "Oh my god. You're a  _ vampire _ . Like, Edward Cullen or some shit." because apparently that's all he's capable of saying.

 

Keith outright laughs, messy brow raising in amusement. "Am I? I hadn't noticed."

 

"Don't get sassy with me, Dracula." Lance snaps and... And he's talking to a vampire. A real life vampire. Who has seen his  _ panties _ . Holy  _ fuck _ .

 

"Am I―am I dreaming? Is this a dream?" He asks frantically, hands reaching out and grabbing his face as if his solidity would prove that this was real.

 

Keith reaches over and pinches Lance in the arm,  _ hard _ . " _ Sonova _ ―what was that for, huh?"

 

"You're not dreaming. There's your proof."

 

And Lance gapes at him. "You're nuts. I'm so out of here," He pauses to look around. "Wherever here is."

 

He's in a light room, off-white walls and navy blue bedding. Lance assumes it's a spare bedroom of sorts.

 

"You're in my house. I brought you here after you fainted."

 

"I didn't faint! I just, uh, passed out from the cold." Keith raises his brow incredulously. "Yeah,  _ okaaay _ . What were you doing out there, anyway?"

 

"What were  _ you _ doing out there?" Lance shoots back pettily. He sighs at Lance's antics and replies "I asked you first."

 

Lance struggles to respond. On one hand, he could tell the truth like a normal human being but, well, the main reason he left was to avoid Pidge who was on a crazy witch rampage. he doesn't think that'll go over well, so instead he says "stargazing"  

 

"Why were you stargazing in the woods? You can't see the stars from there."  _ Annnd this is why we tell the truth, Lance.  _ "I was looking for a good spot." He forces out a nervous laugh. "Nothin like stargazing to calm the nerves, right?"

 

Dracula― sorry,  _ Keith _ ― shrugs his shoulders. "I wouldn't know. I usually only go out to hunt."

 

Lance gulps. "For, like,  _ blood _ ?"

 

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, duh. I'm a vampire. Did you lose some brain cells when you passed out?"

 

"No! Of course not! I was just―whatever, nevermind." He figures it's best if he shuts up.

 

Silence ensues. Thick in the air, the tension could be cut with a knife. Keith, despite having no social skills whatsoever, moves to break it. "I, uh, am sorry about the whole―" he gestures towards Lance's neck. "Licking thing."

 

"Oh. It's alright. I guess. It's my bad for―interrupting your feeding or whatever."

 

More silence.

 

"So, how long have you been, uh, a vampire?" Lance asks. He's admittedly curious and can't stop himself from asking.

 

"I died in the eighties, I think."

 

Lance laughs. "Seriously? You're not, like, a hundred years old or something? That's lame."

 

Keith gives  him an indignant look. "It's not lame! You're not even twenty!"

 

"Oh yeah? Well, at least I have good hair!" Lance shoots back. Keith touches his thick locks. "What's wrong with my hair?" He asks, almost self-consciously. "It's a mullet. What's  _ not _ wrong with it, man? Mullets are hideous."

 

"Well, at least I'm not a pussy who passes out in the woods."

 

"At least  _ I _ have a heartbeat!" Lance cries back.

 

It's a good comeback, Lance admits, but he regrets it by the look on Keith's face. His face kinda falls and it makes Lance's heart clench in a weird way. He reaches out and touches his hand gently. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

 

"Yeah, you did." he mutters and Lance stays quiet.

 

_ Jesus, Lance. You somehow managed to hurt a vampire's feelings. _

 

Lance struggles to say something to break the ice. He decides to say "Do you? Have a heartbeat, I mean."

 

Keith glances up and stares. He seems to debate something, a question in his eyes, before shrugging and saying "Yeah, I guess. It's just slower than yours, I think. I'm not really an expert on vampires or anything."

 

Lance perks up because  _ yes baby this is his chance!  _ He can now prove Stephanie Meyer and Anne Rice and all of those other wacko authors wrong about vampires. Fuck yeah.

 

He grins, feeling his characteristic leer spread across his face and says "Can you answer my questions, then?"

 

He looks skeptical. Lance doesn't really blame him. But finally Keith says "So long as you don't tell anyone, sure. Why not?"

 

And Lance is over the moon. Because  _ ohhhhhh man _ he's got so many questions.

 

~•~

 

After getting his fill of questions―

_ “Can you turn into a bat?” “No, what the fuck?” _

_ “Does sunlight affect you?” “Not really.” “Why not?” “Does it look like I know?!” _

― Keith briefly introduces him to his roommate, some discount Legolas looking dude, before offering to walk him home. Lance chatters on while Keith walks beside him, watching on with an almost bemused expression, like he doesn't know what to make of Lance.

Lance's heart kinda flutters whenever he chuckles at whatever bullshit Lance is spouting. Whatever. The bloodsucker is cute, sue him.

Actually.  _ Hot  _ . They're around the same height, and Keith's muscles kinda―  _ bulge  _ , like Shiro's only more compact.

And Lance can't stop thinking about the  _ fangs  _ . Is it wrong to find them sexy?

And the way he had  _ moaned  _ , last night, with his face against his tender skin. The breathy sigh as he called him  _ intoxicating  _ .

Woah there, Lance Jr. Don't get  _ too  _ excited.

“Here we are.” Lance quirps at the door. Keith looks at the house, his eyes training on the plastic owl on the railing. He smirks.

“Shut up,” Lance warns. Keith laughs. “I didn't say anything.”

“Yeah, but you were _ going  _ to!” Lance cries. Keith raises his brow. “You can predict the future, now?”

Lance huffs. “Whatever. I should probably― head inside.”

“Oh. Yeah, probably.”

Lance doesn't move. “Thanks for, uh, walking me home.” he offers.

“No problem. It's the least I could do after I made you faint.”

“I didn't faint!”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Lance tries to pout, but his lips curve into a smile anyway.

“I'll see you?” he asks hopefully. “Sure, uh, yeah.”

Is that― is Keith  _ blushing  _ ?

Lance reaches behind him to grab the handle, loathe to turn from the sight of the vampire’s flushed face.

“Okay, yeah, cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” Lance giggles out. Keith bites his lip and smiles. “ _ Cool  _ .”

“I'm gonna―” Lance pauses to giggles breathlessly. “Yeah, I'm gonna go now.”

“Cool.” Keith says, with that  _ damn smirk  _ that's setting Lance's insides on fire. He opens the door and flings himself inside before he  _ explodes  _ .

The house is empty when he steps inside. He calls out for Pidge, but there's no response, so he makes his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water.

He's still grinning giddily, thinking about Keith, thinking about Keith  _ blushing  _ and  _ flirting  _ and being overall attractive. Lance can't deal, okay? He's just a peon while Keith is a  _ god  _ .

His mood drops when he sees what's on the counter.

“Oh,  _ no  _ . Not Snuffles.” he whispers, fingers trembling as they cup his mouth in absolute horror.

Because sitting on the counter is his Nana's bird, stomach cut open and entrails smeared across the granite.

He feels himself tear up, vision going blurry.

Because―  _ because  _ , next to his poor corpse, is a message written in blood:

“ **STOP SEARCHING BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE** ”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/)   
>  [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/smelly.milk/)   
>  [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/ewburnit?lang=en)


	7. Shiro and the Velociraptor Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: Matt is missing and Snuffles was murdered. Also, Keith is kind of a vampire and Pidge is a discount Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trash update but I just moved and started a new school so im a walking mess rn,, this chapter was supposed to be WAY longer but I got lazy-- as a result it will be split into two parts, dont ask when the second part will be updated bc im garbage and suck at consistently writing oOps

 

> _Honerva Daibazaal found dead in her and her husband's home yesterday morning. Police have no suspects, but―_

 

“He's driving me fucking _insane_.” Keith grits out.

 

Shiro glances away from the daily paper to meet Keith's annoyed gaze. “Who?”

 

“Have you been ignoring me this whole time?” Keith asks. Shiro tries not to look sheepish. “I… No. Of course not.”

 

Keith looks unimpressed. “Then you should know who I'm talking about.”

 

Shiro sighs. “I may not have been listening as intently as you'd like.”

 

Keith huffs, shooting Shiro a look that's equal parts frustrated and fond. It makes his gut clench.

 

“Lotor. He's staying with me?”

 

Shiro feels his eyes widen. “Oh. That's― _shit._ That's not good.”

 

Keith is fighting a grin as he rolls his eyes. “No shit. He's such a pain in the ass, always asking for shit. He doesn't stop _talking_.”

 

By the end of his rant, Keith's fingers end up tangled in his dark hair. Shiro feels sympathetic, of course, but he also thinks this is a great time to, how does the saying go, _fuck with Keith._

 

“Maybe it's payback for being such an asshole all the time?” he suggests.

 

Keith scowls so fiercely that Shiro can't fight the smile spreading across his face. “Shut up. I'm nice.”

 

“Sure you are.”

 

“No, really― Yo Rolo!” he yells, swiveling his chair and opening the door as the other officer passes by.

 

“Yeah, Keith?”

 

“I'm nice, right?” Keith asks. Rolo freezes, glancing to Shiro desperately. “Is this a trick question?”

 

“What? No. Answer honestly.”

 

Rolo bites his lip. “Um, sometimes? I've never seen it, but you never know.”

 

Keith looks absolutely betrayed, and Shiro can't stop _wheezing_.

 

He turns back to Shiro. “I'm _nice_ , okay! Seriously!”

 

But Shiro and Rolo are laughing too damn hard to hear him. It's great.

 

Until Shiro's phone rings. His cellphone.

 

He's still chuckling when he answers. “Shirogane here,” he quips.

 

“Takashi? I need your help.” says Lance's voice across the line. Shiro's grin falls at his shaky tone. “Lance. Of course, what do you need?”

 

Lance sobs, and it shudders through Shiro like ice in his veins. “Someone murdered Snuffles.”

 

~•~

 

Shiro frowns at the sight of the mutilated bird, guts strewn about the counter gruesomely.

 

Keith gags beside him. “Jesus.” he swears.

 

Shiro looks back at Lance, who holds a tissue to his mouth. His eyes are red, but he's done crying for now.

 

“Do you know who could've done this? I mean,” Shiro pauses. “The message is pretty clear.”

 

“I was snooping.” Lance admits. “Pidge’s brother went missing, so we went through his house. But― how could they have known?”

 

Shiro frowns further. “Why didn't you report him missing?”

 

Lance looks anywhere but at Shiro. “Uh― Pidge wanted to keep it quiet, in case he showed up. But--" he glances back at the dead bird, gaze distraught. “Snuffles was innocent.”

 

Keith leans in and squints at the written message, and looks at Lance. “You're just a magnet for trouble, aren't you? Can't leave you alone for two damn seconds without something else happening.”

 

Lance pouts, but it's more playful than anything. Shiro gets the feeling he missed something.

 

“Do you have anyone to stay with, to make sure you're not alone?” He pipes up, interrupting the weird glances between Lance and Keith.

 

Lance shrugs. “Hunk? I can ask.”

 

“Go do that.” Shiro tells him, and watches him as he nods and leaves the room.

 

“Who would kill a bird? 'S fucked.” Keith grumbles from behind him. Shiro turns and takes another look at the counter, grimacing at the blood.

 

Oh, right. The blood.

 

“You doing good, Keith?” he asks, glancing at his partner. Keith looks fine for the most part, but if he hasn't eaten recently then he might have to leave for a bit.

 

He rolls his eyes. “I'm a cop, Shiro. I've been around my fair share of blood without freaking out.”

 

“I know, I just worry sometimes.”

 

Keith scowls. “Yeah? Well, don't.” he snaps.

 

Ah, the infamous Kogane temper.

 

“I thought we were past this, Keith. We're done acting like we don't care about each other.”

 

He steps forward, much to Keith's chagrin. His partner scowls further.

 

“You're my best friend, Keith. I worry about you.”

 

Shiro leans in, leaving very little space between them.

 

“Stop it.” Keith says, and Shiro freezes. “We can't― I told you, this won't work. Don't make this harder than it has to be.”

 

Shiro sighs and steps back. Keith visibly deflates in relief.

 

“Did you tell him?” Shiro asks. He gestures to the door, where Lance had exited.

 

“Yeah.” he mumbles. Shiro gives a disappointed sigh. “ _Keith_.”

 

“It just― _happened_ , okay? I trust him, and you should too.”

 

“Keith, c'mon, he's a _human_.”

 

“And?” he challenges. There's a fire in his eyes that lights up Shiro's insides.

 

“It won't work out.” he forces himself to say.

 

“You’re just jealous.” Keith shoots with a grin. “What I can't figure out is who you're jealous _of_.”

 

Shiro flushes, and moves to speak― though he's not sure what he would've even _said_ \-- but is interrupted by Lance walking back in the kitchen with a loud and overdramatic sigh.

 

“Hunk's place is out. He's got his aunt staying with him, and she's got four kids, so he doesn't have the room.”

 

He throws himself on a barstool, ever the drama queen. It makes Shiro smile fondly.

 

“Why can't I just stay here with Pidge? She can handle anything that comes our way.”

 

Oh. So that means she must've told him about her own “special problem”.

 

Half the town is supernatural; he's known this for almost his whole life. His own family is included in the very supernatural half, after all. So Pidge being a witch had never phased him.

 

But the fact that not only Pidge, but also _Keith_ , revealed themselves to Lance is slightly concerning. Shiro wonders what it is about the boy that makes him so trustworthy, enough so to make the two most emotionally stunted people he knows to open up within several weeks of knowing him.

 

Maybe Lance has his _own_ kind of magic.

 

_Anyway―_

 

“Oh? Like she handled _this_ ?” Keith retorts, and Shiro groans in exasperation. Really, if he didn't know any better, he'd think that _Keith_ was the one raised by wolves, not Shiro. The boy has little to no manners, or tact.

 

“Her brother just went missing, mullet! Cut her some slack.”

 

“For the love of― It's not a _mullet_!”

 

“Lalala, I'm not listening~”

 

“Are you a _child_ now, Jesus Christ.”

 

“Not all of us are _immortal_ like you, Keith!”

 

So that verifies _that_ question. Lance definitely knows about Keith.

 

And the two are so caught up in their argument that they forgot Shiro is standing right there.

 

He sighs. He doesn't get paid enough for this.

 

“Why doesn't Keith stay here for a few days, hm? For protection, until everything is back to normal.”

 

“This is Altea, nothing is _normal_ , Shiro.” Lance groans.

 

“Wait, wait. You can't just offer me up like that, Shiro!” Keith exclaims. “Listen, it's the best solution. You and Pidge are more than capable of protecting Lance from whoever killed Snuffles.”

 

Both Keith and Lance groan petulantly, but Shiro knows for a fact that Keith doesn't really mind.

 

“Fine, but I don't want you going all 'licky’ on me like you did last night, alright, mullet?”

 

“I apologized!”

 

“Wait, _licky_?” Shiro asks.

 

~•~

 

Kolivan sighs as he walks into Shiro's office, long and drawn out.

 

He gives Shiro a look he can't really decipher and makes himself comfortable on the chair across from his desk.

 

“How's the case going, Shirogane?”

 

He tenses. The truth is― not very good. They have little to no leads and already a week has passed. He's at his wits end.

 

“Could be better,” he says slowly. Kolivan narrows his eyes, looking at him like he's a murder scene. He sucks in his lip.

 

“I'm calling in backup.”

 

“What?” Shiro snaps. “This is Altea’s first murder, and we're underprepared for something like this. I'm calling in the big guns.”

 

“What do you mean by 'big guns’?”

 

“FBI, Shirogane. Maybe they can handle this better than you can.”

 

Shiro feels his heart drop. “FBI?” he chokes out. Because that― is the worst possible outcome. He doesn’t want some fancy ass city cop coming in and taking over _his_ case.

 

“With all due respect sir, I think we can handle this.” Shiro starts, but Kolivan cuts him off. “You’re doing a shit job, Sirogane. You can’t change my mind. They’ll be here sometime this week.”

 

_Shit._

 

~•~

 

He didn’t― think his day could get any worse.

 

But when Keith peeks his head into their office with a solemn face, he just _knows_ something else happened. He could feel it in his gut.

 

“They found another one.” he says, and that’s all he needs to say. Shiro knows. Alfor’s death wasn’t a one time thing.

 

He swallows down his bitter coffee and stands with a sigh. “Let’s go, then.”

 

~•~

 

And― he should’ve known it has something to do with Lance. _Everything_ has something to do with Lance.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t leave you alone for _five minutes,_ can we?” Keith growls out.

 

Lance looks― frazzled, to say the least. Tired, definitely. Mostly resigned.

 

He sighs and looks down at the body covered in plastic on the ground beside him. He’s got a blanket around his shoulders, most likely thanks to Officer Rolo, who was already at the scene.

 

“Am I cursed?” he asks. “I mean, seriously, this is my third dead body this week. It’s getting kinda old.”

 

“Third?” Rolo questions. “Don’t ask.” Lance replies, deadpan.

 

It’s not― it’s not _funny_ , but Shiro feels a nervous giggle burst forth anyway. Lance’s glare is almost as terrifying as Keith’s. _Oops_.

 

Keith gives Shiro a dirty look before striding forward, ripping off the tarp. He gasps and crouches down, his fingers trembling as he touches the dead man’s face.

 

“Keith?” Shiro takes a step forward. “Who is it?”

 

Keith visibly swallows and licks his lips, looking up at Shiro with solemn eyes. “It’s Thace.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always I'm available on [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/smelly.milk/), and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ewburnit?lang=en)


	8. Shiro and the Velociraptor pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: Haggar was found dead and Lance reports not only the death of snuffles but also Thace's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sHJdVHDG this feels like it should've been updated FOREVER ago but I’ve had no motivation to write but that’s just how it b sometimes,,,,,, im just rlly stressed and depression hit aND IM A MESS OOF
> 
> Anyway consider this an early thanksgiving gift!! Where us americans celebrate slaughtering the natives after they saved our lives!! Thanks you asshole settlers for never ceasing to amaze me with how fucking rude yall were!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> ((anyway yes im salty pls enjoy the chap and if u like it pls leave a comment,, im trash with responding bc of Anxiety™ but everytime I get one i feel like screAMing and framing each one gwfehjkgev SORRY IM RAMBLING LOVE U GUYS DVWGHJ)))

Keith looks more shaken than Lance, If Shiro’s being honest. He’s torn over who to comfort― his best friend and partner, who’s just lost his godfather, or Lance― the boy who he’s got a kinda-maybe-definitely crush on who can’t seem to catch a break. 

 

But Keith makes the decision for him. “I’m gonna go take a walk.” he says simply, storming off. Shiro gives him a concerned look as he goes, before turning to Lance who’s eyeing him curiously.

 

“Does Keith― know him?” he asks. 

 

“Uh,” Shiro bites his lip. “Yeah, Thace is his godfather.”

 

The look of horror on Lance’s face speaks volumes. “Oh god, I’m― that _sucks_ , holy shit.” 

 

“Yeah, I'll check on him when he’s cooled off.” 

 

Lance curls the blanket around him further, eyes trained on the unzipped body bag. “I heard about the other one. Honerva, right?”

 

Shiro blinks at him owlishly, before sighing. “Yeah, Zarkon’s wife. That’s three murders this week, plus Matt’s disappearance and the whole Snuffles thing.” 

 

He can’t believe this is really Altea. The small, quaint town where nothing goes wrong. If he didn’t know Lance, didn’t know the boy had a heart of gold, he would assume this was all his fault. It only makes sense: Lance moves in, the murders start happening left and right. But Shiro has learned to trust his gut, and his gut tells him that there’s something more to this case than what meets the eye.

 

“Let me help,” Lance blurts abruptly. “With the case.” he clarifies. 

 

“Lance, no.”

 

“Lance,  _ yes _ . I can do something!”

 

Shiro sighs. “I refuse to let you endanger yourself, Lance. You’re  _ human. _ ”

 

Lance scoffs. “What, and you’re  _ not _ ?” 

 

Shiro freezes. Lance’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Wait. Are you not―?” He shoots up.

 

“Shut up. Of course I’m human.” Shiro asserts, his own eyes narrowed in challenge. “You’re lying.” Lance grumbles, and it’s so childish yet  _ endearing _ that Shiro feels his lips upturning.

 

“Am I?” he teases, and Lance huffs in irritation. “Whatever, just drive me home.”

 

Shiro can’t help the laughter that tumbles forth. “I’m driving you home now, am I?” 

 

Lance’s grin is impish, snarky and  _ so  _ enticing. “Well duh. I don't have a car, how else am I getting home?”

 

~•~

 

The car ride is quiet and, at least on Shiro’s end, awkward as  _ helI.  _ Then again, that may be because Lance spends the ride with his eyes trained out the window lost in thought. Shiro takes peeks at the oblivious boy every few minutes, for the sake of observation of course. Not because he’s beautiful or anything, not at all. 

 

It’s just― so  _ rare _ , to see him quiet and pensive. Contemplating. He smells like vanilla and sweat, the lingering scent of fear fading the more time that passes. 

 

Shiro pulls into his driveway and stops the truck, watching Lance and waiting. He puts his hand, the flesh one, on Lance’s shoulder and watches him jolt from his thoughts, almost blearily looking up at him with those baby blues. 

 

“We’re here,” Shiro says. Lance blinks, and looks around. “Oh,” he murmurs softly. 

 

Lance bites his lip. “I don’t― I don’t know if you realized yet―” he pauses, his gaze indiscernible on Shiro. “Keith told me he’s a― a,  _ v-word _ .”

 

Shiro pushes down the laughter at the term, so fondly amused he can hardly bear it. With a deadpan expression, he asks “A velociraptor?”

 

“No, jesus!” he giggles. “A vampire!”

 

Shiro snorts. “Why did you say it like that. ‘A v-word’,” he chuckles. 

 

Lance flushes. “I didn’t― know if it was, like, taboo or something, okay? Or, like, if you even knew about it― stop laughing at me!”

 

Shiro forces himself to stop laughing, but a few snorts trickle through his defenses. “I’m sorry, it’s just so funny!”

 

Lance pouts. “I’m leaving.” he swings open the door and hops out. “Oh, Lance, wait! I said I was sorry!”

 

“Uh huh, whatever.”

 

“Come on, Lance. Don’t be mad.” Shiro begs, somewhat concerned he hurt his feelings. 

 

Lance turns back around, grinning impishly. “Gotcha,” 

 

He feels himself roll his eyes. “You’re such a brat, you know that, right?” 

 

Lance giggles at the remark. “I should probably head inside. I’m freezing my dick off.” 

 

“Oh, that’s not good. You kinda need that,” Shiro says mock-seriously, before smiling. “I’ll see you the next time you find a dead body, yeah?”

 

“I have you on speed dial~” Lance sings, before turning to head inside. Shiro waits until he opens the door and steps in before peeling away from Lance’s house, heading over to the office to wait for him. They’ve got some things to talk about. 

 

~•~

 

So it turns out that Keith will do anything to avoid talking about his feelings, including throwing himself right into the case. When Shiro gets to the station, he’s already got a list of suspects and leads. 

 

He doesn’t say anything, just slaps down the file and continues to scowl. Shiro raises a thick brow at his tense behavior and reaches down to pick up the folder, opening it. He skims the first page and flips through. 

 

“So you think Zarkon is responsible for all of this?” is the first thing he says. 

 

“It makes sense. I mean,” Keith’s brow further furrows. “He hated Alfor, him and Thace most definitely didn’t get along, and Honerva was his wife. He’s connected to all of this.”

 

Shiro bites his lip and stares at Keith, wondering whether he should trust his judgement. He was emotionally involved in the case, now. This wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill case anymore, because now Keith’s godfather was dead and Keith was out for blood. Shiro could see it in his eyes.

 

“I think,” he says after a moment of silence. “I think we should interview some more people.”

 

Keith scoffs. “Oh yeah? Like who?” 

 

Shiro knows he’s not going to like what he has to say, but he says it anyway. “Ulaz.”

 

Keith’s eyes roll back. “Yeah,  _ okay _ , Ulaz  _ definitely  _ murdered his husband.  _ C’mon _ , Shiro!”

 

Shiro tries to calm himself from yelling at Keith for being too rash, because Shiro’s dad always told him that  _ patience yields focus  _ and Shiro could  _ definitely _ use some focus right about now. He inhales. “Keith, we can’t just accuse the mayor of killing three people! We have to get more info.” 

 

Shiro can see Keith somewhat deflate, taking in what Shiro said. His scowl is tangible, but he can pinpoint the exact moment Keith concedes. 

 

“Okay, fine. We can go talk to Ulaz.” 

 

~•~

 

The interview isn’t going well. Why, you ask? Well, most dearest reader. Shiro was a problem― a very  _ prominent  _ problem. He’s very, how would you say, allergic to cats. Always has been. A cat within three feet of him sends him into a fit of sneezes. And his eyes get all red and watery, and his skin gets itchy, and it’s just a  _ mess. _

 

The issue?

 

Ulaz has cats. Many cats. So many that Shiro has to wait in the car because it looks like he’s crying and his skin is breaking out in hives.

 

He cusses to himself within the confines of his truck and watches the door to Ulaz’s house as he fumbles with a packet of tissues, which he had conveniently stashes in his glove box. 

 

He wipes his eyes and blows his nose, rubbing at it furiously. He lets out a pitiful sneeze and shakes his head. Damn cats.

 

He hopes Keith is alright in there. He knows Keith is perfectly capable of handling himself, but Shiro still feels anxious at letting him out of his sight, for any period of time.

 

Altea isn’t the safe place it used to be.

 

He crumples up his tissue and tosses it on the passenger floor, leaning back in his seat and forcing his eyes closed in an attempt to relax.

 

He inhales. Exhales. Counts.

 

One. Two. Three… Four… Five… _  Six― _

 

Okay,  _ fuck this _ . He swings open the door and hops out, pacing in a circle instead.  

 

Shiro has always been a compulsive worrier. 

 

The front door opens and Keith steps out, not exactly smiling but looking more at ease. Ulaz claps his hand on Keith’s shoulder, his own lips upturned slightly. “I’ll see you around, kid.” he says, and Keith waves behind him in dismissal.

 

“So?” Shiro inquires. 

 

“He didn’t do it,” Keith says. “Though I doubt that comes as a surprise.” 

 

Shiro sighs, and Keith continues. “He mentioned Haggar might be a suspect.”

 

“Haggar? She was killed yesterday morning.”

 

Keith raises his brow speculatively. “You believe that stopped her? She’s a  _ druid _ , Shiro. I highly doubt death is an obstacle for her.”

 

“This is ridiculous. A dead woman didn’t  _ kill _ Thace.”

 

Keith slams the truck door as he gets in, and Shiro groans in exasperation.  _ Great.  _ A pissed off Keith is not what he wants to deal with right now. 

 

“Whatever, Shiro. It’s more than what you’ve got.”

 

There’s a pause. Shiro turns and gives Keith a serious look. “Keith,” he starts. “I know you want to just ignore your feelings, but― How’re you doing? Really?”

 

Keith bites his lip. “I’ve been better, I guess.”

 

Shiro is almost proud. He’s admitting to something, which is better than what he’d gotten before. He reaches over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here for you, if you need anything. Always.”

 

Keith reaches up and holds his hand on his shoulder. He looks choked up. “I know, Shiro.”

 

His look, right then― it’s so  _ soft. _ Shiro feels almost blessed with the feeling it gives him. To have somehow made Keith look like  _ that _ ― it’s mind boggling. He doesn’t feel worthy.

 

The moment lasts for what feels like eternity. Shiro is leaning in on instinct, like he’s caught in Keith’s gravitational pull. Their faces are inches apart, breaths intermingling. So close. Shiro brushes his lips against Keith’s, for the barest of moments, and it’s bliss until―

 

He yanks himself away to sneeze. 

 

The moment is broken. Keith blinks at him, dazed almost. Shiro is cursing his luck. 

 

“You― uh, the cat hair. You’re covered. I, uhm―”

 

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts his ramble. “That can’t― this can’t keep happening. I told you. I’m not―  _ there _ yet. It won’t work.”

 

Shiro’s gut is clenched, his face twitching in an attempt not to let his heartbreak  show .

 

He  _ knew _ it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself, and now it was― awkward.  _ Fuck. _

 

“Let’s go home.” is all Shiro can manage, and the ride is quiet and full of tension that Shiro wished wasn’t there. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall happy now?


	9. Gotta Catch 'Em All, Dead Bodies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: Keith interviewed Ulaz about Thace's death, and Shiro couldn't contain his Thirst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnnnnnnnnnnnng hi hello im still alive somehow??? not 2 b that bitch(tm) but like,,,, since i last updated i moved and got a job and dsghj ive been so busy n unmotivated GSFHJSJ I SUCK anyway this chapter is trash pls forgive me :(((

 

 

“I don’t like this,” Lance mumbles to himself. “I just want that put out here, in case anyone cares. I  _ don’t _ like this.”

 

“God,” Pidge snaps from beside him him. “You sound just like Hunk.”

 

“I resent that.” Hunk grunts.

 

“Her house looks kinda― empty.” Lance observes, staring out the windshield at the small townhome. 

 

Pidge does nothing but  sigh. “Lance, this is a stakeout. It’s supposed to be  _ quiet _ .”

 

“Why did you bring Lance if you wanted it to be quiet?” Hunk remarks, and Lance gasps. 

 

“How  _ dare  _ you?! I can be quiet!”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“No, really!”

 

“Then prove it.” Pidge deadpans. Lance pauses, then nods seriously. He’ll show them. He’ll show them  _ all. _

 

~•~

 

(Here’s a hint: he doesn’t last five minutes)

 

(Here’s another hint: Nothing happens. The stakeout of Narti’s house is a bust, because her house is empty. Lights out, no one home.)

 

(Okay,  _ last  _ hint:

 

_ Pause for dramatic effect. _

 

Lance finds another dead body. This comes as a surprise to literally no one.)

 

~•~

 

“Are you fucking  _ kidding _ me?” is the first thing out of Pidge’s mouth. There’s sounds of retching behind them― Hunk has a weak stomach, and a week old rotting body isn’t the nicest thing to see.

 

“Why is your luck so  _ shitty _ ? Seriously, why are you a dead body magnet?”

 

Lance is resigned to his fate as ‘the dead body guy’. He’s doomed to find them all, he supposes. Maybe he should look into a career that utilizes this talent of his. He’s like Ash Ketchum. G _ otta Catch ‘Em All, Dead Bodies! _

 

_ Ooh _ , that’s good. He should write that down. 

 

Anyway, “I take it this is Narti?” is all he says, trying not to hum the pokemon theme song. He may or may not fail, he’s allowed to be a little out of it considering the circumstances. 

 

Pidge grimly nods. Hunk gags again, and Lance doesn’t blame him; the smell  _ is  _ pretty terrible. He kinda feels like puking himself.

 

“Okay.” Pidge grumbles. “There goes our only lead. This is  _ fantastic _ .” 

 

She storms away and kicks a wall. Lance raises a brow at her and gives the rest of the bedroom a glance. There are definite possible leads, but he’s pretty sure that would be tampering with evidence, and there’s only so many times he can flirt with the ‘Ganes in an attempt to evade the law.

 

They’re already breaking and entering. This is such a mess.

 

_ Go big or go home, _ he thinks, and decides to start snooping.

 

“What are you doing?” Pidge asks him as he rifles through Narti’s bedside drawer. 

 

“Looking for clues.” he responds, rifling through her underwear drawer.  _ Everyone  _ knows you put the things you want to hide in the underwear drawer.

 

“I hate this.” Hunk mumbles behind him. “Really, I don’t know why I’m even here. I don’t break the law. I pay my taxes. How did I let myself be talked into this?”

 

“Hunk, be helpful or shut up.” Pidge snaps. Lance is too busy snooping to care.

 

After an uneventful look in her drawer (much to his disappointment), Lance peeks under the bed, and spies a cardboard box. He reaches out and lugs it forward, flinging it open. Inside are photo albums and what looks like an assortment of letters and notes. Detailed notes, actually.

 

Notes about― 

 

_ Huh _ . 

 

“Hey Pidge?” Lance calls out behind him. 

 

“Yeah?” she asks. 

 

“Who’s Haggar?”

 

~•~

 

The notes didn’t reveal much, just Honerva’s daily schedule and little details, like what she ate and where she went. It was creepy, in a very stalkerish way that left Lance feeling genuinely uncomfortable looking at. 

 

Hunk gave both Lance and Pidge a stern talking to about law breaking and snooping and  _ letting the police do their job, _ before heading home. The two roomates waved him off with innocent smiles and pleasant waves, right until his back was turned. They had work to do, if they were going to get to the bottom of this.

 

~•~

 

Keith is lounging on the couch when the two get home. For a moment, Lance is indignant about his presence, before realizing that Shiro had basically assigned him as his guard. Which― isn’t going to work well, considering how much Lance had been breaking the law and hiding from the officers today alone.

 

“Hey, mullet.” he greets, and Keith’s scowl is incredibly amusing. 

 

“You know what? I’m giving up on fighting it. Call me what you will.” he sighs. Lance giggles in response. 

 

Pidge plops down next to Keith and the two start chattering about meaningless things that Lance doesn’t have the attention span to care about. He checks his phone and updates Allura on what the three had discovered― any clue was a good clue in Lance’s book. If they’re going to get to the bottom of this, then they need every last thing they could get their filthy little hands on.

 

“Hey Lance?” Keith calls after several moments.

 

“Yeah?” he says back, absentminded as he scrolls through his phone. 

 

“Where were you earlier?”

 

His tone is friendly enough, but Lance stiffens all the same. He slowly looks up at Keith, who is staring back almost accusingly. 

 

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Me and Pidge went to go hang with Hunk. Yeah, haha, gold old Hunk.”

 

Is it hot in here? Lance feels hot.

 

Keith raises his brow, and looks over to Pidge who’s nodding in agreement. He purses his lips. “Alright, but next time, either tell me or bring me along.  I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, and I can’t do that if you’re gone without a trace.”

 

“Yes,  _ officer _ .” Lance says, and shoots him a wink. Pidge groans at the action and pretended to gag, much to Lance’s amusement. She gets up and grumbles about some new project, shuffling into her room.

 

“And then there were two.” Lance comments, and Keith gives him a curious look. Lance waves him off.

 

They spend a few moments in silence, when Lance asks “How was work?”

 

“I had today off, but I’m pretty sure Shiro wants me to come in in a bit.”

 

“Why?”

 

Keith visibly is fighting off laughter, which means it must be good. “Kolivan requested backup from Juneau, and Shiro’s been texting me all day about how much he hates the two new officers.”

 

Lance laughs, trying to picture Shiro angry. He can’t. It’s like trying to picture an angry hamster. A very large, very muscular hamster. Okay, maybe a hamster is a bad analogy. Whatever.

 

Keith’s phone goes off, and he checks it. “Oh, yep, there he is. He wants me to head over to the precinct. You wanna come?”

 

Lance shrugs. “Sure. I don’t have anything better to do.”

 

“Maybe you’d have things to do if you actually got a  _ job _ .” Keith remarks, nudging Lance playfully. 

 

Lance gasps. “Moi? Work? Haha, you’re  _ hilarious _ .” 

 

~•~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance @ shiro/keith: impwegnate me uwu daddy uwu

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/smellymilky?lang=en) n bug me to update lmao


End file.
